


Help Wanted

by ArabellaFaith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, How Do I Tag, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 05:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArabellaFaith/pseuds/ArabellaFaith
Summary: Hermione is divorced, broke, and keeping a secret from the world.  A Help Wanted ad seems like it could be the solution to all her problems.  Can she finally put her past behind her and have a chance at a real future?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cross-post of a story previously posted on FFN. I wrote it in 2016 but it has been re edited for AO3. Enjoy!

Hermione was at the end of her proverbial rope.  Being a divorcee at twenty five wasn't nearly as glamorous as Witch Weekly made it seem.  She didn't go to posh restaurants with her plethora of other divorcee friends and get hit on by fit buss boys.  She wasn't out every night drinking champagne and celebrating her freedom from commitment. For starters, she had too many responsibilities to flit from one place to another drinking half her weight in expensive alcohol.  For another thing, none of her friends were divorced, and none of them even lived in Great Britain any longer.

 

After Harry and Ginny had gotten married, they moved to America.  Harry had taken a post at the wizarding school there, Ilvermorny, and was enjoying life in relative anonymity.  After the end of the war (and the near instant dissolution of her relationship with Ron), the entire Weasley clan had uprooted and moved to Egypt.  While Molly claimed that it was to be closer to Bill, Fleur, and their three little ones, it was silently understood that the family couldn't live in the Burrow without Fred.  No one blamed them. 

 

Hermione had developed other friendships over the years, but she'd lost contact with her Hogwarts friends when she'd moved to Paris to get married, and she'd lost contact with her few Parisian friends when she'd come home to England.  Combined with the fact that her parents had passed away the year before, and Hermione Granger was very nearly alone in the world.

 

Still, she didn't need anyone to rely on.  She was a strong, independent witch, and she could get by perfectly well on her own, thank you very much.  Or at least, she would, once she managed to find a job. And a proper house. The research paper she'd been contributing to for the last two years had been completed, and Hermione's inflexible constraints had made it nearly impossible to find new work.  Worse, in a badly timed twist of fate, the owner of the flat she'd been subletting had returned without warning and given her their contractually obligated thirty day notice to get out. Because Hermione had such demanding standards for a home, the only flat she'd been able to find was temporary, well over her budget, and draining her meager funds alarmingly fast.

 

It was probably a good thing that her paltry dating life had gone cold.  Relationships would have been a distraction she couldn't afford. And besides, it wasn't as if she was sacrificing anything worthwhile.   She had yet to bring a single wizard into her house, and she doubted she would start any time soon, considering her current life crisis.

 

When the post owl scratched at the window, Hermione hurriedly shushed the bird.  It nipped at her fingers, indignant at being shushed, and then dropped the  _ Prophet _ unceremoniously onto her table.  Since she'd prepaid till the end of the month, the owl took off without waiting for any coins.  Hermione glared at the retreating form and picked up the paper. The drivel on the first several pages was wholly ignored.  Instead, she turned directly to the advertisements. Flats were listed first, and she circled a few potential prospects to look into later, then moved to employment.

 

One glance was enough to tell her that the column was small.  She sighed. If only she could have accepted Minerva's offer to work at Hogwarts.  But no. The schedule was simply impossible for her, and it wasn't fair to ask the Headmistress to make special exceptions.  After all, the woman had a school to run. The first three adverts were worded so blatantly that it was obvious that the work entailed was sexual in nature.   Though prostitution wasn't technically illegal, it fell so close to the north side of the law that normally it wasn't advertised so... crudely. Perhaps the pool of women willing to spread their legs to make a Galleon had dwindled so small that the brothels were getting desperate.  Hermione shivered involuntarily. Despite her firm belief that a woman's body was hers to do with as she pleased, she couldn't imagine how destitute a woman would have to be to turn to that life.

 

The next two posts appeared legitimate, but didn't match her qualifications.  Her Masters in Arithmancy and Mage in Magical Creatures hadn't been chosen with the average employer in mind.  They had been tailored to fit a post at the Ministry, but... well, that ship had sailed. The last advert was longer than the others, and she had to squint to make out the small print.

 

**House Manager Wanted**

 

**Older gentleman seeks capable individual to handle the running of a large estate outside Presteigne.   Candidate must be hard working, honest, fastidious, and have knowledge of gardening. Duties will include cleaning, cooking, maintaining the larder, gardens, and atrium.  Post is live-in ONLY, with private rooms provided. Married couples, individuals under the age of twenty, and those with secondary employment need not apply. Salary is 1,000 Galleons a month, with additional stipends for expenses.  Following three month probationary period, yearly contract will be required. Please send inquiries to Saer Coed, care of SP, Presenteigne, Whales, by post.**

 

Hermione double checked the salary three times before she believed what was printed.  It had to be an error, right? Who paid a live in housekeeper a thousand Galleons a month  _ plus additional stipends _ ?  Doing the calculations in her head to convert Galleons to Euros, she realized it was almost as much as her parents had made as dentists.  Perhaps because of the small town, and the seclusion involved, the higher salary was needed to draw an appropriate candidate from a larger town?  Or maybe the house was old and in need of serious work.

 

She shouldn't even be considering it.  The job was far, far below her capabilities.  To say she was overqualified was a gross understatement.  It was a glorified maid position, for heaven's sake! But... such a job would likely be able to accommodate her specific schedule and needs.  Plus, the housing was provided. That fact might be an inconvenience to others, but for Hermione it would be a godsend. 

 

Of course, none of those things meant anything unless the house and employer met her exacting standards.  Summoning her quill and some parchment, Hermione began to draft a reply.

 

_ Dear sir, _

 

_ I am writing in response to your advertisement in the Daily Prophet for a House Manager.  After careful consideration, I believe I meet all your requirements. A live-in position suits my circumstances, and I have attached a list of impeachable references of my character.  If they are to your satisfaction, I would like to set up a time to meet in person to discuss further terms. I await your reply at Northing House, Kettering. _

 

_ Yours, Hermione Granger _

 

She attached the list of references, including her favorite professor in Paris and Minerva.  Then, she busied herself with chores until she could get down to the Owlry and send her inquiry.

 

 

***

 

It took two days before the reply came.  Two long, agonizing days. Days in which her Gringotts account shrank to terrifyingly small proportions.  Several expenses had come up which could not be forestalled. It felt as if the universe itself was conspiring against her.  Worse still, she had yet to see a second employment option present itself. Despite her initial hesitation at taking a position so far beneath her expertise, Hermione now realized that the job was a golden opportunity. One she couldn't let slip by her.  She had no other options. 

 

The missive was delivered by an enormous Northern Hawk owl.  It dropped the parchment on her kitchen counter and then waited, presumably for a reply.  Hermione's fingers shook as she opened the seal and read the contents.

 

_ Miss Granger, _

 

_ By all accounts you seem vastly overqualified for this post.  My curiosity is piqued, however, and I am willing to set up a time to interview you in person, if you are still amenable.  I have included a picture of the estate to make your Apparition easier. Does this afternoon, two o'clock, sound agreeable to you?  My owl awaits your prompt reply. _

 

_ SP _

 

Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding and scrambled to find a quill and parchment.

 

_ Sir, _

_ Two o'clock is perfect.  I look forward to making your acquaintance. _

_ Yours, Hermione Granger _

 

Once the massive bird had the note attached to its leg, it flew off, and Hermione used her mobile phone to contact Madam Serene and make sure she would be available that afternoon.  Once she had everything arranged, she made lunch and then began sorting through her closet looking for something to wear.

 

Normally she would wear business robes to an interview with a prospective employer, but this was much different work than what she was used to.  Her mother had told her once that one should dress a single step more formal than what their future working attire would be. The problem was that she didn't know what professional housekeeping attire was.  At home, she cleaned in faded jeans and a tank top or sweat shirt depending on the weather. Didn't some housekeepers in private estate wear specific uniforms? The vision of a frilly french maid outfit popped into her mind and she banished it immediately.  Of course she would never wear anything of the sort.

 

It was easy to say such things now, but only two hours before she had been looking at her dismally empty cupboards and wondering just how far she would go to keep food on the table.  It wasn't a pleasant thought. In her school years, she would have disappeared from society for a while until she could get back on her feet. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to live off her wits and wand.  But she was no longer a teenager with no other responsibilities than herself.

 

She settled on powder blue robes that were cut stylishly but not formally.  The color reminded her of the gown she'd worn to the Yule Ball in fourth year.  While the night hadn't ended the way she'd wanted, it had still been wonderful. She would need the comfort of those memories for her interview.  Already, she was trembling slightly. She felt as if her fate was in the hands of some unknown old man. It was ridiculous, of course. She made her own fate.  If this didn't work out, she would find another way to get by. Failure wasn't an option. But this job could be the answer to all her problems.

 

At quarter till two, Madam Serene arrived.  Hermione greeted her, made certain the older witch still had her mobile number (as if she might have lost it in the two hours since they'd last talked), and then Apparated herself to the house of her future employer.

 

She landed gracefully and looked around.  She was standing on the lawn of a beautiful estate.  The picture he'd sent had only given her a basic impression of grandeur, but in real life, the house was breathtaking.  Perhaps a little bleak for her taste, but it was a model of Gothic and Victorian architecture. She suddenly understood why the salary was so high.  If she was to be the only one tending to the house and grounds, she would have her work cut out for her.

 

After crossing the lawn for what felt like ages, she reached the large front door and raised the heavy brass knocker.  It fell with a hollow  _ thud _ that echoed.  Had she not been accustomed to facing death itself since she was eleven, she might have shuddered.  As it was, she smiled at the original designer's flare for the dramatic. She waited, breath bated and hands balled into fists so they didn't shake.  When the door knob turned, her heart skipped a beat and she remembered to press her palm against the wool of her robes so the first impression she gave her future employer wasn't a damp hand.

 

The door swung open, and from the darkness within emerged Severus Snape.  He flicked his gaze over her and then stood to the side, presumably so she could go by him into the house.  “Come in, Miss Granger,” he drawled.

 

Hermione stared.  She blinked. Then she stared some more.  Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her.  If they were, then her ears were in on the joke too, because only one man had a voice like that.  She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out.

 

“Not that I don't enjoy your impression of a trout, but perhaps you would like to continue it inside?”  He smirked at her, clearly enjoying her shock.

 

“Y-you... you're SP?  How is that possible?”

 

Snape sighed, realizing they would be starting their conversation in the doorway.  How uncouth. “Obviously the S is for Severus. The P is for Prince. My mother's maiden name.  After the war, I found it prudent to use a pseudonym.”

 

“I... I...”  She could see it all now.  Trying to discuss terms with him, him laughing in her face at her misfortune, throwing her out of his home without a backward glance.  Or worse, giving her the position and then making her life hell. For herself, she could manage. But she wasn't the only factor here. “I can't do this.  I'm sorry.” She didn't even bother to turn away before she Apparated home.

 

She made it just long enough to send Madam Serene on her way before she burst into quiet tears.  She had been pinning all her hopes on that position. When next month's rent came due, she wouldn't have enough money to pay it.  What was she going to do?

 

_ BAM BAM BAM _

 

Someone was pounding on her door.  She jumped up and wrenched the door open before they could pound again.  Standing on her stoop was Severus Snape. Mortified, she realized she hadn't even taken the time to wipe the tears from her cheeks.  Humiliation made her flush red. They only looked at each other for a long moment. Eventually Snape raised one raven brow.

 

“Are you going to invite me in, or not?”

 

Hermione looked back over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door, then at Snape once more.  She sighed. It had been terribly rude of her to Apparate off without giving him any more explanation.  She owed him an apology at least. “Come in,” she murmured, moving aside and letting him pass her.

 

Severus looked around the room slowly, letting not a single thing escape his gaze.  The flat was nice enough, not spacious, but clean and sound. There were several odd things in the corners-  “I'm sorry I ran off like that, Professor. It was extremely rude of me.”

 

“Indeed, it was.”  He seated himself in the chair she gestured him towards.  “And I am no longer your professor, Miss Granger. Or a professor in any capacity, for that matter.”

 

“Sorry, sir.”

 

Severus sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes.  “You are bound to need to refer to me by name at some point, Miss Granger.  Since I imagine it would be too much to ask you to adopt my alias and call me Mister Prince, I think we should settle on the more informal.  Call me Severus, if you will.”

 

“Severus,” she acknowledged, somewhat awkwardly.  It was so strange to be calling him by his given name.  Even eight years since the last time she'd set foot in his classroom, it seemed almost... disrespectful to call him that.

 

“Now then.  Would you care to tell me why you fled my stoop like the gates of Hades had just opened before you?”

 

“I'm sorry,” she apologized again.  “I was completely taken aback. I had pinned so much on being able to get that post that I reacted emotionally instead of rationally.  It wasn't my intention to bother you or waste your time.”

 

“And why, pray tell, would it have been a waste of my time?  You seem convinced already that you will not get the job.”

 

“Well I just assumed-”

 

“Minerva led me to believe that you were in dire straights.  Not that one would guess from your living arrangements.” He waved casually around him.  Hermione felt her hackles rise.

 

“Minerva told you about my situation?  Is that why you posted that advertisement?”

 

“Of course not, foolish girl.  As if I would set out to hire you specifically.  I contacted Minerva as one of your references. She filled me in on a small part of your comings and goings since you left Hogwarts, and mentioned that the only reason she hadn't employed you herself was that you had some sort of situation that required more leeway with scheduling and housing than she was able to accommodate.”

 

Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding and relaxed her shoulders.  She should have known that Minerva wouldn't have said more than that. “She is right.  A drafty, somewhat irritable castle wasn't suitable living conditions, nor am I able to hold a regular nine to five position.”

 

“And would you care to elaborate on why?” he drawled.

 

“No, I would not.”

 

“Fine.  Then perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to why, now that you have explained that you have such exacting requirements, you are immediately walking away from a post that seems to fit?”

 

“It would never work.”  She shook her head, trying to explain as simply as possible.  No reason to go into details. “The job itself isn't the problem.  I would not suit what you are looking for. Not to mention, your disposition and personality-”

 

“What about my disposition makes you unsuited to mop the floors?”  His voice rose in anger, old resentments getting the better of him.  This was why he'd taken his mother's name. He'd been cleared by the fucking Ministry, but still, people shunned him.  Well they could all go to hell. It wasn't as if he needed-

 

“Keep your bloody voice down!” Hermione hissed at him, looking back at the bedroom door sharply.

 

“Why?” he snarled.  “We have already established that my nasty temperament excludes you from my employment.  What further reason could there be to stifle my natural acerbity?” He pushed up from his chair and prepared to storm from her pretentious little flat and never return.  The door to his left opened suddenly and old habits rushed back to him. He had his wand in his dueling hand in a flash. Before he could even see what was behind the door, Hermione moved.  Faster than he'd ever seen her draw her wand, faster than even he could react, she'd disarmed him and put herself between him and the opened door. 

 

Had he been prone to such displays, his mouth would have fallen open in shock.  No one currently living had ever disarmed him like that. Before he could either demand an explanation or praise her skill – and he still wasn't sure which he would do – a small sob came from behind her.

 

“Muuuummmy!”

 

She heaved a sigh and looked close to tears.  Then she shuttered her face and put on a mask of neutrality and turned to the little boy toddling up behind her.  He rubbed his eyes with one hand and dragged a blue bunny on the floor in his wake with the other. Hermione scooped him up in her arms and pressed a kiss to his sandy brown hair.  He looked like he was going to cry again, then noticed Severus and his brows drew together in confusion.

 

“I'm sorry we woke you, sweetheart.  Do you think you can lay back down? It's still nap time.”

 

The little boy shook his head adamantly and stuffed the foot of the bunny in is mouth.  He stared at Severus with wide, amber eyes. Hermione let out another long-suffering sigh and fought to maintain her composure.

 

“ _ This _ is the reason,” she finally said to Severus.  If the circumstances had been any different, the look of shock and befuddlement on his face would have been amusing.  Instead, she only felt frustration and disappointment. Few people knew about her son. That was the way she needed to keep it.  Since it was obvious that Snape – no,  _ Severus _ , she reminded herself – wasn't going to be her employer, there was no reason for him to know.  On the other hand, she knew for a fact that he was an expert at playing things close to the vest.  Perhaps if she explained, without any details, of course, that she wanted to keep from broadcasting her son's existence to all and sundry, he would respect her wishes.

 

“You have a son,” he said numbly.

 

“Well spotted.”  The subject of their conversation began to squirm in her arms so she set him down.  He kept his eye on Severus, as if the boy expected him to attack at any moment, but moved to the toy box in the corner that had been so out of place earlier.  Now, it made perfect sense.

 

“Your letter did not say that you had a child.”

 

“No, it didn't.  I had planned to bring it up when we met today.  Obviously I need quarters that can accommodate a toddler, and a work schedule that will allow me to supervise him.”

 

“And the boy's father is...?”

 

“Not in the picture,” Hermione replied tightly.  It was not a subject open for discussion. Severus studied her face and thought.

 

“Well that certainly explains a lot.”

 

“And now that you've had your curiosity sated, you can see why I would be totally unsuitable for the position you are offering.  If you would just-” She moved to open the front door for him, but the smug git lowered himself back into her chair and tented his fingers beneath his chin.

 

“I have seen no such thing.  Perhaps you are the one who has found me unsuitable.  And if so, then I suggest you reconsider your standards.” 

 

“You cannot honestly tell me that you would be willing to have a toddler running around your home.  He is well behaved, but there are times when even the best behaved toddler screams and throws things.”  Severus raised his eyebrow at her as if in challenge. “And the first time you raised your voice at him or insulted him, I would hex you and put myself out of a job.”

 

“So you are suggesting that I am stubborn, inflexible, and so beastly that I would act maliciously toward a small child merely for acting in his nature.”  He said the words casually, but she could see his jaw was clenched.

 

“I understand that all of the time I knew you, you were under great strain and acting under direct orders.  But honestly, can you tell me anything in our history together that would suggest otherwise to me?”

 

He considered her silently, the muscle in his jaw ticcing erratically.  Finally, he inclined his head and drawled, “...fair point.” She seemed somewhat relieved.  The boy ran from the now empty toy box – every single toy had been removed and scattered on the ground around it; Severus cringed internally at the sight – and tugged at his mother's robes.

 

“Up, up, up,” he chanted.  Hermione looked down at him and her entire countenance changed.  Her eyes warmed, her lips curled into an indulgent smile. She brushed the boy's hair out of his eyes and it was tangibly obvious how much she loved the child.  Watching them, Severus felt a part of himself soften. He wanted to find fault, any fault at all, in her choices and reasoning. But how could he? She was willing to take a job far below her education and ability, simply so that she could provide her son with the best care.  Even her assessment of  _ him _ , which he resented sharply, he could understand.  The only version of him that she had ever known was the cruel Potions Master.  He might speak glibly about being malicious to a child now, years later, but he knew that during his time as a spy, he had been unforgivably callous with children.  None so small and innocent as her son, but even still. The fact that she was willing to reject a near perfect post for her situation, all to protect him, twisted Severus' stomach in a funny way.

 

Not that he understood why.  She wasn't the first example of motherly devotion he'd ever seen.  Lily had made the ultimate sacrifice for her son. Molly Weasley was practically a paragon of doting motherhood.  But somehow, Hermione Granger, on her own and unwilling to compromise her son's care while searching desperately for a lifeline, moved him.

 

“I suggest,” he drew her attention from her son, back to himself, “that we give each other the probationary period I specified in my advertisement.  I will see if I can handle having your progeny running wild in my home, and you can watch to make sure I do not use the boy for potion parts. If we are both satisfied at the end of three months, we can re-discuss terms.”

 

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed slightly in consternation.  She looked at first as if she would reject his offer. But something stalled her.  He wondered vaguely what difficulties had led her to this spot in her life. She kissed the top of her son's head absentmindedly and studied Severus like an Arithmancy problem she couldn't quite solve.  “Why should I take the risk of it not working out? I have far more at stake here than you.”

 

“Do you really have any better options at this point?” he countered.  Hermione thought of the double digit balance in her Gringotts account and winced.  He had a point. Still, there were certain things she refused to compromise on.

 

“Fine.  But the three months isn't a contract.  If at any time I feel my son isn't being treated appropriately or isn't in a healthy emotional environment, I will leave so fast your head will spin.”

 

“Is that how you display your Gryffindor gregariousness?” His question dripped sarcasm and she glared at him.

 

“I went on a bloody crusade for seven years to protect a friend.  How much more do you think those protective instincts will apply to my  _ only child?” _  The ferocity in her voice and in her eyes impressed him.  He could only imagine what she would do to anyone who dared harm her son.

 

“I concede the point.  No contract until after the probationary period.”  He held up his hand when she started to speak, silencing her next objection.  “And if we do get to that time, then there will be a clause giving you immediate rights to leave in the event of any mistreatment of your son.”

 

She could find no fault with that, so she nodded hesitantly.  Surely there was something else she was missing. Why was he being so accommodating to her?  Was it possible that underneath all the snark and sarcasm, he actually was a decent human being?

 

Hermione immediately felt ashamed of the thought.  Of course he was a decent man. She knew from what Harry had seen in the pensieve, as well as the testimony of his actions during trial, that Snape was brilliant, loyal, and courageous.  The only time she'd ever really known him had been during his time as a spy for the Order, when his every action had been observed and directed. That had been more than seven years ago.  She knew  _ she _ wasn't the same bushy haired know-it-all she'd been back then.

 

Still, it was hard to reconcile the man who'd been her teacher and tormentor for six years, with the man she realized he was after hearing the extent of his selflessness.  And more so with the man who was now casually offering her the opportunity she so desperately needed.

 

Perhaps she needed to stop trying, and simply accept things as they came.  Perhaps, if she didn't box him in as the dreaded potions professor, he wouldn't box her in as the insufferable swot she'd been when he'd known her.

 

“Shall we return to the estate?  We can go on with the interview as planned, you can inspect the living quarters to make sure they are adequate for your needs, and we can discuss other terms.”

 

“That sounds fine.  I'll need to call my sitter to return, though.  She left right before you arrived.”

 

“Why?”  Severus cocked one eyebrow lazily.  “Bring your son with you. If I cannot stand an hour in his presence, then having him live in my home will be problematic, don't you think?”

 

“Er- I guess you're right.”  She turned to her son, still sitting on her lap.  “Atty, can you go get mummy your trainers? We are going out for a while.”  The boy nodded, wiggled off her lap, and raced back to the bedroom with the blue bunny trailing along behind him.

 

“ _ Atty? _ ”  Severus looked nonplussed.

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if they were going to get off to the wrong foot so early in their new acquaintanceship.  “Short for Atticus. It's from a book.” She pursed her lips. “A  _ muggle _ book.”  There. What would he have to say to that?

 

“To Kill a Mockingbird struck such a cord in you that you named your son after a main character?”

 

Hermione couldn't contain her surprise.  “You've read it?”

 

Severus rolled his eyes.  “I am a scholar, Miss Granger.  I read everything.”

 

“I very much doubt that,” she returned skeptically.  He raised both brows and extended both hands as if asking her to take a shot at him.  “Romance novels?”

 

“I cannot say that they are quite my taste, but I have read my share.  Enough that I could probably guess  _ your _ favorites in the genre.”

 

She fought the urge to blush at him guessing her penchant for bodice rippers.  Instead, she braced her hands on her hips. “Fanfiction?” she challenged. Severus smirked.

 

“As a matter of fact, yes.  Try not to let your jaw hit the floor in your shock.  I'm sure you're aware that most of Shakespeare's plays are technically fanfiction of other works.  And before you clarify that you mean  _ unpublished _ stories, let me assure you that I have read some of those as well.  I consider myself a student of literature in  _ all _ its forms.”  He allowed himself a small hum of satisfaction at her continued shock.  As if he hadn't ever been so swept up in fictional worlds that he craved more even when the book was done.  “Now if you are done questioning me about my reading habits...?”

 

“Fine.”  Hermione found herself chuckling.  She still couldn't get the image out of her head of Severus Snape bent over a computer in the dungeons reading fanfiction.  “But you started it.”

 

“Hardly, Miss Granger.  All I did was admit that I knew what novel the name Atticus is from.  A good, strong, Roman name, I might add.  _ Atty _ , however, sounds like a house elf.”

 

“Considering I've had dear friends who are house elves, I won't take it as the insult I'm sure you intended it to be.”  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave him a prim smile before turning to help Atticus put on his shoes. Once his little trainers were laced tight, she brushed his hair out of his eyes again – he really did need a haircut soon – and looked around for anything she might be forgetting.  The pile of nappies in the corner gave her pause. She grabbed one and looked between Atticus and Severus. “Maybe I should put one on him before we go. He does very well with his potty training, but I don't imagine it would give a very good first impression if he wee'd on your floors during his first visit.”

 

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  “Surely as a mother, and as a woman taking a housekeeping position, you know the spell to remove urine from any surface?”  When she nodded, he went on. “Then if you think the boy will be fine, leave it alone. You're never going to be able to relax if you continue thinking I am going to fly into a rage at the slightest accident.”

 

“Well- yes, you're right.  Come on, Atty, we're going for a ride.”  She settled him on her hip. “I know the rail doesn't run all the way to Presteigne, but I'm sure we can get a cab from there to the estate.”

 

“The rail?  It will take hours to reach the nearest station, not to mention the rest of the trek by auto.”

 

“Yes, well you know Apparation isn't safe for children, and it's much too far to go by  _ broom _ ,” she shuddered at the very thought.  “So rail it is.”

 

“Nonsense.  Apparation is only unsafe for children who cannot control themselves, or if the adult isn't proficient enough.”

 

“I'd rather not take the risk.  Once, when we were on the run, I splinched Ron, and I've never quite forgiven myself for it.  It's one of the few things I don't trust myself to do with him. Better safe than sorry.”

 

“Surely you don't doubt  _ my _ Apparition skills,” he drawled.  Hermione did a double take. Was he offering?  More importantly,  _ did _ she question his ability?  It wasn't so much that she doubted him, more that it was not trusting him.  Or anyone. Not with that. But then, he wasn't just anyone. He was likely the most powerful wizard alive after Harry – and maybe even ahead of him, if she was honest with herself – so surely that counted for something?  After all, going by road and rail wouldn't protect them from train or auto accidents. And magic would only get her so far if she didn't see an accident coming. Wasn't Snape the safer choice, then? “Alright,” she slowly nodded.  “Atty, you're going to go for a little trip with Mister Sna- I mean, Severus. You must hold onto him very tight, and try not to move even a little tiny bit. You're not to let go for anything. Do you understand?”

 

The boy looked from his mother, to Severus, then back.  Wide eyed, he nodded. Reluctantly, Hermione handed her son to Severus.  Atticus looked so tiny against his chest that Hermione's heart clutched. “Hold on very, very tight, Atty.  You won't let go of Severus?”

 

Atticus looked at the imposing wizard holding him.  “Sev'us,” he said solemnly.

 

“Indeed,” Severus confirmed.  The child clutched the lapels of his frock coat obediently and nodded at his mother.  It felt... strange... to have such a small person in his arms. The boy didn't appear to be slight for his age, but he weighed next to nothing.  Despite his absolute confidence in his skills, and his knowledge that it was totally unnecessary, Severus wrapped both arms around the child. “We will see you in a moment, then.”

 

Hermione fought the urge to snatch Attics back to her chest.  Wild panic welled up inside her and she fought it down. If Snape said they would be fine, then they would be fine.  It was just Apparition. They would be  _ fine _ .  With a barely perceptible  _ pop _ , Severus and her son disappeared.  Hermione stifled a cry and Apparated after them.  She landed more turbulently than she normally would if she hadn't been so worried, then looked around, searching-

 

Severus stood only a few feet away, Atticus still in his arms, looking not the least bit disconcerted, and not a single strand of his baby-fine hair out of place.  Her breath left her in a rush.  _ See? _ She scolded herself,  _ nothing to worry about _ .  Perhaps she needed to try and relax more.  The last thing she wanted was to smother her son.  If he hadn't learned about falling, he wouldn't have learned to stand.  If he hadn't learned about tripping, he wouldn't have learned to run. But, oh, it was so hard to stand by when all she wanted to do was wrap him up in a bubble charm and protect him from every little hurt.

 

As soon as Severus set him down, Atticus ran towards Hermione with a grin.  “Look mummy!” He pointed his chubby finger at the ceiling, then the door, then the wall, then shook his head and giggled.  

 

“I see.  What do you say, Atty?”

 

“Tank you Sev'us.”

 

“A pleasure,” he said with a slight inclination of his head.  “Why don't we move from the entryway? Please, take a seat.” He gestured them towards the chairs in the sitting room off to the left.  Large windows let in the afternoon light. Funny, she hadn't seen windows here from the outside- But of course, they would be spelled for privacy.  Very clever. She perched on an overstuffed chair and settled Atticus onto her lap, wondering how long it would be before he began to squirm and want down.

 

Severus swept his wand in a circle around the edges of the room, carefully excluding the glass front cabinets and the outlets that had been fitted for muggle electricity.  “ _ Caularum. _ ”  With his barrier in place, he held out his hand for Atticus's bunny.  “If I may,” he asked politely. Atticus scowled and clutched the bunny closer to his chest.  When Severus only waited patiently, Atticus eventually handed over his beloved toy. Severus pointed his wand at it.  “ _ Animaré,”  _ he commanded.  Instantly, the bunny jumped up and began to dance around.  Atticus screamed in delight and began to chase it around the room.  “There. Now-” He stopped when he realized Miss Granger was staring at him in shock again.  “I know that you aren't impressed by such minuscule displays of magic, so I can only assume you are surprised that I would deign to perform them?”

 

“No- I just-”  Hermione consciously closed her mouth and gave a sheepish smile.  “Yes, yes I was. You continue to destroy any perceptions I had of you.  I am going to do my best to set aside any further judgments, and I'll ask you the same courtesy.  Really, we barely know each other.”

 

Severus looked from Hermione, to her son, still chasing the bunny that danced just out of his reach, and then back to her.  “So it would seem.” She flashed him a smile and folded her hands in her lap.  _ So dignified _ , Severus thought to himself.  He scowled at the errant thought and settled himself on the chair opposite hers.  “Well then. Why don't we get the basics out of the way? How do you plan to handle the needs of the house as well as see to your son?”

 

“I will need to see how things go, of course, but I imagine that he will go with me as I complete various tasks.  He can play as I'm focusing on bigger areas, and when I need to focus on smaller details, I have a carrier I can put him in on my back.  Outside, we are far enough from any other people that I'm comfortable letting him run and play. I'll need to inspect the grounds and make sure there aren't any buried wells or cellars he could crawl into, and of course the gardens will be off limits until I know exactly what each plant is.  He naps for two hours in the afternoon, and I have a monitoring charm on him for those, so any places that would be dangerous for a child to be in at all, like a lab, would be taken care of during that time.”

 

“That sounds sufficient.  Is it safe to assume that you are proficient in various forms of house witch magic?”

 

“I am.  Though I will admit that I'll need to do some research on charms for the lawn and gardens.  I've never worked with anything on such a large scale before.”

 

Severus waved away her concern negligently.  “The lawn can rot for all I care. There are no neighbors to complain, and I have no use for acres of immaculately cut grass.  The gardens must be kept up, however. I cultivate most of my own potion ingredients from them. Not all the work there will be on you, as I do my own culling and planting.  What will need most attention is the weeding and watering.”

 

“Once I know what every plant needs and can discern the seedlings from the weeds, I don't see that those should be a problem.”

 

“Well and good then.  You are obviously capable of performing the duties.  Onto other matters.” He snapped his fingers and her letter and references appeared in his hand.  “I noticed that among your references was not a former employer. Was that an intended exclusion?”

 

Hermione cringed.  She knew he wasn't talking about the research paper that had kept her busy the last year, but her job in France.  “I didn't leave my last employer on the best of terms,” she admitted.

 

“Meaning?”

 

“I didn't give a fortnight notice for them to find my replacement.”

 

“How much notice  _ did _ you give?”

 

She cringed again.  “None.”

 

“How... disappointing.”  The way he drawled the words gave her a flashback to her school days.  She felt as if she'd handed in an essay six inches too short. “Would you care to elaborate your reason why?”

 

“No.”  Hermione shook her head firmly.  She was  _ not _ discussing Paris.

 

“Then what assurance do I have that you will not repeat the performance?”

 

“You already told me that there would be a clause in our contract allowing me to leave without giving notice if-”

 

“If your son is mistreated in any way.  Not willy-nilly because you get the urge to move on.  I haven't the time or inclination to interview and hire a dozen candidates.”

 

Hermione grit her teeth and tried to remind herself that not only did she  _ need _ this job, but also, he wasn't being unreasonable.  Any employer wanted assurances that someone they hired would have the decency to give notice before leaving.  Employment contracts were very common. “The circumstances that led to my departure from my previous employer have  _ no _ chance of being repeated.  I can tell you with total confidence that I have no intention whatsoever of leaving without finishing any contract we agree upon, aside from for those reasons which we have already discussed.”

 

“I suppose that will have to do, for now,” he grudgingly agreed.  His eyes were drawn once more to Atticus, who had caught his bunny and was now watching it jump from one little hand to the other.  “How old is your son, Miss Granger?”

 

“He just turned two.”

 

He did the mental math and realized she must have returned to England very soon after becoming pregnant.  Had the pregnancy had something to do with her return? He hated unanswered questions. Perhaps it was a holdover from being a spy, but loose ends disquieted him.  He went over in his head everything that Minerva had told him about Hermione's situation, and what little the woman herself had imparted. Then he decided to take a more Slytherin tack.  “Will you be needing time off during the week for Atticus to have visitation with his father?”

 

“No, his father doesn't-”  Hermione's mouth snapped shut.  “No, I won't. Thank you.” She berated herself for almost falling for such a simple trick.  She narrowed her eyes at him and he offered a small smirk in return, unrepentant at being caught.

 

“Then will Saturday afternoon and Sunday be acceptable days off?”  When Hermione nodded, Severus moved on. “As for your salary, I assume you find no fault with what the advertisement offered?”

 

“None.”

 

“And you would like it directly deposited into your Gringotts account?”

 

“If you would.”

 

“Certainly.  An extra stipend will be allotted to you for groceries, both for the house as well as for yourself and your son.  There is a market in the village, but you are welcome to shop any where you like. There will be a secondary sum set aside monthly for unforeseen expenses.  A broken window, a linen that needs replaced, things of that nature. What is not spent should be cycled back into that fund, but you needn't feel it necessary to skimp and stretch.  Use your common sense. Any expenses that are larger than what is available should be brought to me for approval.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “Very reasonable.”

 

“Indeed.  Shall we move on to the tour, then?”

 

“Sure.  Atty?” She beckoned her son over.  He ran to her, his bunny still wiggling in his grip, but slowly now that the charm was beginning to wear off.  “Come on, baby. You want to walk, or want Mummy to carry you?”

 

“Walk!” he declared firmly.

 

“Okay, but you must stay in sight at all times and not touch anything without asking.  Look at me, Atty.” His eyes had wandered to Severus as he stood. “Did you hear me? No touching.”  Atticus looked back at his mother and grinned, showing off a row of pearly baby teeth.

 

“No touchy!”  He stuffed the rabbit's foot in his mouth and followed them as they left the room.  Severus pointed out the conservatory, great room, dining hall, kitchens, and library (which she itched to explore further), on the main floor.  On the second, he pointed out the guest quarters and baths, and then stopped on the threshold of his own rooms.

 

“My quarters will not need regular cleaning.  Once a month, the linens will need changed, but other than that, they are private.”  Hermione nodded, understanding. It was one thing to have someone clean the kitchen... it was another to have someone poking around where you slept.  They climbed another set of stairs that led to the attic. The space wasn't grand, but it was airy, with exposed ceiling beams and large round windows to let in the light.  There was a bedroom, sitting room, wash room, small study. “I presume you would like to turn the study into a bedroom for Atticus.” When she nodded, he went on. “You are free to make any alterations in here that you see fit.  There is a dumbwaiter for bringing heavy supplies up if you don't feel inclined to levitate them up the stairs, which I suggest you put a strong warding spell on. It is large enough to fit the boy, and would take him all the way down the basement where my lab is, not to mention the risk of getting stuck.”

 

Hermione shivered and looked at the innocuous little door as if it might open its maw and try to devour her son.  She wasn't particularly frightened by closed in spaces, but the idea of her baby trapped inside there made her stomach turn.  “Will you be bothered if I put wards on the stairs as well? They won't stop an adult from passing through them, but you'll feel a slight tug.  He can climb up stairs brilliantly, but going down he still needs supervision.”

 

“You are welcome to make any safety changes you see fit throughout the house.  All I ask is that you let me know if there are going to be cupboards or cabinets that I can't open easily.  I once had a very bad experience with a middle of the night trip to the facilities and a seat that had been charmed not to lift except by the parents of the house.”  He curled his lip at the memory. Hermione fought off the giggle that rose, but couldn't suppress her smile. She could imagine him yanking on the lid uselessly a few times before blasting it open.

 

“Thank you.  I will make sure not to lock you out of the loo.”

 

“Very good.  Do the rooms seem up to your standards?”

 

“More  than,” she admitted, looking around.  She had rather expected cramped, dilapidated servant's quarters in an estate this age.  She was pleasantly surprised that the open, cozy space would be very much to her liking.  “Do you like it, Atty?” He was hunkered down, looking under the desk in the study. When Hermione spoke, he stood up and banged his head against the desk ledge.  There was a short pause, and then a wail filled the air. Hermione swept Atticus into her arms and rained kisses on the top of his head. “Shh, shh, it's alright. You're okay, love.  Just a little bump, right?” He sniffed and let out another wail. “That's enough now, sweetheart. You're fine.” She dropped more kisses on the top of his head until he began to giggle between sniffs.  “See? All better.” He gave one last sniff and then nodded.

 

“Aw betta,” he agreed.

 

“Well, now that that's decided, are you formally accepting the job?”

 

“Are you formally offering it?” she countered.  Severus let out a long-suffering sigh and prayed for patience.   _ Gryffindors. _

 

“Yes, Miss Granger, I am offering you the job.  Three months probationary period, after which we will negotiate a contract.”

 

“In that case, I accept wholeheartedly.  You have my gratitude.” She held out her right hand to him, keeping the left curled around Atticus as he perched on her hip.  Severus grasped her hand and shook it. He fought to keep such asinine thoughts about how delicate her hand felt, how soft the skin was, from his mind.  When he released her hand, Atticus held out his little hand to be shook as well. Smothering a smirk, Severus grasped the tiny, chubby fingers in his own and have a very serious handshake.

 

“When are you available to start?”

 

“Is the end of the week too soon?  I'd love if I could be out of my flat by then.”

 

“Not at all.  The sooner the better.  I'm fairly certain the bushes are in desperate need of a de-gnoming, and the only food in the kitchen is tea and toast.”

 

“In that case, I can start packing tonight and have most of it finished up by tomorrow afternoon.”

 

“Very good.  I can meet you at your flat to help you transport any parcels that you don't want shrunk.  Shall we say, three o'clock?”

 

“That should be perfect.”

 

“I will see you both home, then.”  He held out his hands for Atticus and the boy willingly let himself be passed off.  With a nod of approval from Hermione, he Apparated to her flat in Kittering. A moment after he landed, Hermione appeared.  She looked anxious, but not nearly so much as she had when they'd arrived at the house. When Severus tried to pass Attics back, two little hands gripped the lapels of his frock coat and refused to let go.  “Certainly not shy, is he?”

 

Hermione laughed.  “No. Never has been.  You'd think, with how little we see other people, he would be nervous around strangers.  But he's happy to say hello to anyone. I imagine he'll have all the social grace that I never did.”  She tapped him on the shoulder and held out her arms. After a moment's thought, Atticus turned and went to his mother.  “Thank you for everything, Pro- Severus. I can't tell you how much this is going to mean to us. I won't let you down.”

 

“I am counting on that,” he drawled.  Then, after a quick bow of his head and an indulgent smirk at Atticus, he Disapparated.

 

***  


 

Back at the estate, Severus brewed himself a cup of strong tea.  His reserves were getting alarmingly low, but he reasoned that Miss Granger would be providing him with more in the very near future.  Now that he'd had a chance to spend some time with her again, and her son, he wondered if he'd made the right decision by hiring her.

 

Not that he thought she would be unable to do the job.  It was work for house elves, not for the brightest witch of her age.  And not because he thought she would up and leave one day for no reason.  Whatever troubles had caused her to abandon her former post, he had no doubt they were beyond her control.  Besides, now that she was under his roof, whatever woes assailed her, he would be there to- Wait. What a peculiar thought.  He wasn't her keeper. She was a grown woman with a child. He realized that old feelings of responsibility were flaring anew and he thoroughly doused them.  As his employee, he would do what was within reasonable measures to make sure she was content and provided for, but whatever problems she had – as long as they didn't affect her work – were her own.

 

No, the reason he was questioning his decision was that she was  _ Hermione Granger _ .  With that came a mountain of shared - mostly unpleasant - history.  He could admit that he'd been cruel to her. Part of it was that he could give no sign, not even a whisper, that he approved of a muggle-born student.  She could get no partial treatment; indeed, it needed to be obvious that he disdained her and all she represented. Then, because of her close relationship with Potter, his disdain for her had to double.  In total honesty, not all of it had been an act. During the war, he had been under more strain than any one man could carry. His every move was studied, scrutinized, analyzed, both by the Dark Lord and by the Order.  One step in the wrong direction would have led to his immediate death, and the ultimate ruin of all Dumbledore's plans. Not to mention that he had never been cut out for teaching. It wasn't that he wasn't good at his job.  On the contrary, he excelled at it. But he took no pleasure in the work, and the tedium of trying to impart the same information to a new batch of ungrateful children year after year ate at him. He preferred the exhilaration of research.  Experimentation, discovery. The keen reward of a potion well brewed.

 

The only version she knew of him was the unhappy man stretched beyond his capabilities and pretending to be a cold-hearted killer.

 

As for her, despite knowing they were usually acting with Albus's indirect approval, she and her friends had been nothing but trouble for him from the moment they stepped into the castle.  More than once he'd had to risk his life to protect them. He'd resented that so much back then. Not that he wasn't willing to die to save them. But they took so many needless risks, blundered around following half-clues and insinuation.  The position they had all been placed in was insufferable. And perhaps worst, the cause of all of it was the man who's robe he had to kiss. Who he was forced to prostrate himself to on bended knee. It had taken all of his control to treat the Dark Lord with respect and reverence when all he wanted to do was destroy the monster.

 

It would have been easy to shift the blame of his situation onto Dumbledore.  When he'd first gone to the headmaster to plead for Lily's life, he'd felt nothing but gratitude to the man for trying to save her.  In the years between, Dumbledore had been his defender and confidant. But during the second war, as he had begun to see the threads of control on which they all danced, resentment mounted.  It reached a head when the old man asked Severus to kill him. Because Draco's soul was worth more than his? Because it was necessary for the all important plan that Severus have the Dark Lord's unwavering trust?  He found that he no longer cared for the reasons. He was tired of each morally ambiguous act being attributed to the 'greater good.'

 

And perhaps he would have carried those resentments to his grave, had it not been for his time as headmaster.  Being placed at Hogwarts after Dumbledore's death had given him a whole new understanding of what his mentor had gone through.  There had been atrocities going on under his nose that he'd had to approve of. Innocent children beaten bloody, scarred for life.  But if he were to interfere, he would have given away his true alliances and jeopardized the war. He had sacrificed those children's safety just as Dumbledore had been willing to sacrifice Severus's soul and Harry's life.

 

After the war, Severus had simply been weary.  He was tired of life, tired of pretending to be someone he was not, tired of working to please others.  After the trials, he'd withdrawn from society as a whole. All that had been left of him was fragments of guilt, flashes of resentment, and a tidal wave of anger with no outlet.  It had taken him years to work through his issues. Years before he'd come to terms with his juvenile, unrequited love for Lily Evans and the guilt he felt for her death. Before he'd been able to let go of old grudges and accept people for who they were, not who they'd been or who their parents were.  Before the cruelty that had become like armor had finally slipped away.

 

Now, he was made up of the broken pieces that had been left behind.  He was intelligent, voracious in his thirst for knowledge, sarcastic, stubborn, quick to anger, quick to indulge, and perhaps more than anything... lonely.

 

He had been living by himself in his huge, empty house for years.  Much longer and he would have begun talking to the spoons. The solitude which he had so craved, which had facilitated his healing after the war, had become oppressive.  For the first time since his childhood, he longed for companionship. But it wasn't as though he could go down to the pub and make a friend. Much like Darcy, he did not possess the talent of conversing easily with those he had never met.  He abhorred small talk and idle chatter. He knew himself to be a harsh critic, and to have a scornful countenance.

 

So what were his options, then?  Resign himself to his life of solitude with only his spoons for company?  Or hire a manager for the house. He'd always been shite at running the estate – the state of the bushes and the larder were evidence enough of that – and it was a responsibility he would gladly be rid of.  So if that manager happened to be live-in, and if they happened to provide some companionship for Severus, no matter how small, who was he to complain?

 

Was it possible that Hermione Granger could really be that person, though?  He'd known from the beginning that there was a large possibility that the candidate he hired would be female.  Though traditionally English households were run by men, the task had fallen more and more to women, and on that respect he had no preference one way or the other.  He'd also known that the person he hired would likely be far younger than himself. A witch or wizard getting on in years would hardly want to take on such a demanding position.  So neither her age nor her sex gave him any pause. Even the fact that she had a child, though wholly unexpected, was not what left him uneasy.

 

It was just that thread of history that combined them.  She knew things about him he would rather keep buried. Had seen sides of him that he wanted to keep in the past.  And if her earlier dismissal of his personality, and his subsequent reaction, were any indication, she could rile him up just as easily as she had years ago.  But, what was done, was done. He'd hired her, and now they were going to spend the next three months deciding if they could stand to be near each other. She had said before that she would try and let go of any old prejudices and asked that he do the same.  Surely that was a good start? Either way, he knew at least it would never be boring.


	2. Chapter 2

At precisely three o'clock the following day, Severus Apparated to Hermione's flat.  He knocked, expecting to find her organized and ready to go, with packages stacked neatly by the door.  After all, Hermione Granger had never been anything except prepared.

 

“Oh, Merlin!  Is it three already?”  Hermione walked away from the open door without even formally inviting him in.  Boxes stood open and half filled. Toys littered the floor. A jar of peanut butter sat open on the kitchen counter, butter knife perched atop it.  And most outrageous of all, Atticus was running around the living room in a super hero costume, screaming at the top of his lungs. He clipped the edge of the side table as he flew by, causing the lamp to topple over and crash to the floor.  

 

Severus took one look at the unholy mess and decided to take matters into his own hands.  “ _ Silencio.”   _ He flicked his wand at Atticus, who continued to run around open mouthed for three more seconds before he realized his voice had gone mute.  He froze, and slowly, his eyes travelled up to Severus. He cocked his head, and his lips twisted into a little half smile before he threw himself on the ground dramatically and began kicking his legs.

 

“Pr- Severus, you shouldn't.”  But there was no ire in Hermione's reprimand.  She'd been wanting to do the same thing for the last two hours.

 

“He seems no worse for it,” Severus returned casually, going to the counter to screw the lid back on the peanut butter jar and wash the dirty knife.

 

“I'm sorry about all this.”  She had the grace to look embarrassed.  “I didn't think it would be nearly so chaotic to pack up.  We just did this a month ago! But every time I pack a box of toys, he wants to drag them all back out, and he missed his nap because he was too excited to sleep with all this going on, and I can't seem to find-”  She patted her pockets, felt along her sleeves, and then went to her hands and knees to look beneath the couch. Before Severus could get any ideas about appreciating the view of her denim clad arse on display, he moved to her side and pulled her to her feet.  With a long-suffering smirk, he plucked her wand from her hair and handed it to her. She sighed in relief.

 

“Why don't you take Atticus to the bedroom for some quiet time.  I might be wrong, but some one-on-one time in a darkened room might be just what you both need.”

 

“I- yes, but all this...”  She looked around at the mess and grimaced.

 

“I will take all the boxes already packed back to the estate.  I can shrink down the furniture and get it moved as well while you are indisposed.”  Hermione looked as if she wanted to argue, but one glance at the little boy still flailing dramatically on the floor changed her mind.

 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.  Severus only nodded in reply, then lifted the silencing charm from Atticus as she took him into the bedroom.  

 

Twenty minutes later, Hermione emerged to find Severus stacking now miniaturized chairs in her kitchen.  He'd removed his frock coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. When he bent to pick up the whole stack of chairs, she noticed the way his biceps strained against the fabric of his shirt, and the lean muscles in his forearms flexed with exertion.  Once he had the chairs securely grasped, he Disapparated. Without the ex-professor there to distract her, Hermione realized that most of the room was empty. He'd managed to move all the closed boxes, nearly all the furniture, and had even gathered the toys and tucked them away in their respective boxes.

 

A moment later, he Apparated back into the room and saw her.  “I thought you should check over those open boxes over there before I shrink them.  I did not see anything which oughtn't be shrunk, but as you say, better safe than sorry.”  He shrunk her table and then stacked two boxes atop it before Disapparating again. Hermione looked over the ones he'd pointed out, setting aside two that she wasn't sure about, then shrinking the others herself.  Quickly and efficiently, they moved the rest of the flat's contents to the estate. Finally, all that was left was Atticus and the bed he was sleeping on.

 

“Perhaps, if you were to go on ahead and darken the room we will be moving him to, I might be able to Apparate him without waking him.”

 

Hermione looked at Severus skeptically.  “Are you sure you haven't worn yourself out?  You've been going back and forth for a long time.”  Severus stopped himself from scowling at her affront to his skill.  She was entrusting him with the safety of her child, after all. Surely a mother had a right to some mildly irritating concern?

 

“I can assure you, I am quite capable.  Multiple Apparitions were necessary quite often by the end of the war.  It has been a while since I've done so many in a single day again, but my stamina hasn't atrophied.”

 

The word 'stamina' caught at Hermione's belly and tugged.  How silly. It was just a word, after all. He was talking about his  _ magical  _ stamina.  She nodded, conceding the point.  “I'm sure you're right. I'll go over, get the room ready, then you can grab him, I'll grab the bed, and we can try to Indiana Jones it.”

 

“Try to Indiana Jones it?”  Severus raised a brow.

 

“You know, switch the treasure for the rock before the pressure switch activates the booby traps.  Or, in this case, activates the crying, grumpy child.”

 

“Ah, well then by all means.  Let's  _ Jones _ it.”  He smirked at her and she stifled a laugh.  Together, they crept into the bedroom. Atticus was sleeping horizontal across the foot of the bed, his blue bunny tucked beneath his chin.  Slowly, painstakingly carefully, Severus slid his arms beneath the child and lifted him up. Atticus snorted a little, then turned his face into Severus' chest and continued sleeping.  Hermione quickly shrunk the toddler bed until it was the size of a bread bin, then nodded that she was ready. 

 

Severus took a moment to focus, putting all his considerable effort into making the Apparition as smooth as possible.  Instead of the sucking, churning feeling that usually accompanied Apparition, there was only a gentle slide. An instant later they were in the small study.  Hermione arrived a split second after him and set about placing the bed and enlarging it. Once done, Severus stooped over and deposited Atticus beneath the covers.  The boy stirred, let out a small wail, then stuffed his bunny's foot in his mouth and returned to sleep.

 

Both adults let out the breath they had been holding.  As noiselessly as possible, they left the study and closed the door behind them.  “I didn't think that was going to go half so well.”

 

“Doubting my abilities again?” Severus asked archly.

 

“Never again, I promise you.  That was nothing short of miraculous.  Honestly, I've never seen anyone make Apparition look so... gentle.”

 

“I may be past my prime, but I still have my talents.”

 

Hermione laughed dismissively.  “You're barely even middle aged.  And your advert was blatantly misleading, by the way.  'Older gentleman?' Maybe by muggle standards, but by wizarding standards you aren't even old enough to buy a ridiculously expensive racing broom and claim you're reliving your glory years.”

 

“I think you underestimate the toll two wars take on the body, Miss Granger.   Besides, how should I have written it? Ex-Death Eater living on isolated estate seeks naive employee to clean his dirty laundry?  I'd have done just as well casting a  _ Morsmorde _ and seeing who comes calling.”

 

“I'm sure you'd have gotten just as many responses as you did by wording it more accurately.”

 

Severus smirked.  “Indeed. Then I would still have ended up having to hire you, Miss Granger.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean that as it was, I only got one reply to that advertisement.  You.”

 

Hermione looked aghast.  “What? With that salary?  You had to have gotten scads of replies.  That doesn't make sense.”

 

“Few in the younger generation are willing to take this kind of work, and in such a remote location.  The older generation are mostly settled into permanent positions and in no mood to change. That leaves the pool of employees I have to choose from very small.”

 

“Yes, small maybe, but just one?”  She tried to peer at him more closely and see if he was lying to her, but saw no trace of deceit.  Then again, he'd been a master spy for years. He likely could lie to his own grandmother's face and show not a sign.   “Well, in that case I concede your stretch of the truth. I'll admit that I myself would have been far less inclined to answer an ad for a young, single man looking for a live-in housekeeper.”

 

“How magnanimous of you.”  He curled his lip at her but with no real malice.

 

“I  _ am _ awfully generous.  And speaking of that, I feel like I owe you a spot of tea, at least, for all your help.  But my tea service is packed away somewhere...”

 

“That's quite alright, Miss Granger.  I won't impose on your time any longer.  I can bring you up a tray and then leave you to your evening.”  He turned, but Hermione stopped him with a hand on his arm.

 

“No, I insist.  It really is the least I can do.  I'll go get the tray and bring it up.  Why don't you have a seat? You've earned it.”

 

“I was not the one dealing with a twelve kilo demon all day.  Besides, your boxes were very little in terms of physical exertion when compared to a full pewter cauldron or a bundle of Giant's teeth.”

 

“Please,” Hermione looked up at him with wide, endless brown eyes.  Severus was a stubborn bastard, but he also knew not to fight pointless battles.  After all, he  _ did _ want tea.  He raised his hands in defeat.  When she still stared at him, he moved back until he was sitting on one of the re-enlarged chairs.

 

“Better?”

 

“Much.  Won't be more than a tick.”  Then she turned and made her way down to the kitchens.  It took her less time than she'd feared to find his stock of tea – startlingly low – and his dishes – startlingly numerous- and put the tray together.  Since she realized she had no idea how he took his tea, she added sugar, lemon, honey, and milk to the tray. Then she put a spell on the tray to keep it steady and climbed back up the stairs to the attic.  

 

When she got to her rooms, Severus had already re-enlarged several other pieces of furniture, including a chair for her, and the table.  Gratefully, she took her seat and poured him a cup.

 

“How do you like it?” she asked.

 

Severus froze, his head jerking to the side.  Then he saw the innocent expression in her wide eyes and schooled his features.  “I like my  _ tea _ black.”

 

“Alright.  Black tea it is.”  Why was he shifting uncomfortably?  It was just tea. But for how tense he suddenly looked, one would think they were on a date in a nudist colony.  When she handed him the cup, she made sure their fingers didn't touch. Despite being an incredibly tactile person, she didn't think it would do to start hanging on her employer.  Nor did she think a man like Severus Snape would appreciate it. Though he was obviously a far different person than the icy man she'd known in school, he still didn't seem like the type that would be comfortable with physical contact.

 

“Thank you,” he inclined his head to her and took a drink.  It was strong, piping hot, and smelled divine. He barely refrained from signing in pleasure.  He was so particular about his tea that it was an unexpected pleasure to have someone brew it just the way he liked.  When he looked up over the rim of his cup, Hermione had finished doctoring her own and was watching him as she sipped.  “What is it, Miss Granger?” 

 

“I'm just... curious.”

 

“Merlin save me,” he muttered.  “Curious as to what?”

 

“It's just that you seem so-” she floundered for the right word, “so calm.”

 

“Calm?”  One raven brow rose.

 

“That's not exactly what I meant.  You're relaxed. Genial, even.” She scrunched up her face in frustration, knowing her words weren't coming out the way she wanted.  “I guess I'm just wondering what it was that brought about so much change. Was it simply the end of the war? I was only involved in the  _ second _ war and I still find myself slipping into old habits even years later.  I can only imagine how hard it must have been for you...”

 

“It's not as if I changed the entirety of my being overnight, if that is what you are asking.  It took years for me to stop constantly looking over my shoulder, to stop using cruelty as armour and callousness as ready defense.  I could not simply shed the Death Eater persona that had been my cloak for twenty years. The guilt that had driven me for so long did not evaporate at the Dark Lord's death.  But over time, I have come to terms with most of it. I doubt that I will ever stop looking for ulterior motives in people, or wish to change my reclusive lifestyle. But time has tempered me.  This house, too, changed me.”

 

“The house?  Isn't this the Prince estate?”

 

Severus let out a barking laugh.  “The Prince estate? Whatever would give you that idea?”

 

“Well, I just assumed-”

 

“My mother's parents would have squandered every last dime and burned every possession rather than let it fall into the hands of their disgraced daughter or her tainted son.  No, I have nothing of the Prince's except their name, and even that is half spite.” He smirked and took another sip of his tea. “This estate is from Albus.”

 

“This was  _ Dumbledore's _ house?”  Hermione was taken aback.

 

“I don't believe he spent much time here, but yes, this was his ancestral home.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose as he recalled his frustration over the gift, then sighed.  “He willed it to me after his death. Obviously I wasn't made aware of that until after the trials.”

 

“So you've been here for six years?”  She was surprised he hadn't either learned to handle all the management of the estate or hired a house manager earlier.

 

Severus shook his head.  “I refused at first. Aberforth should have received the estate as Albus' only surviving kin.  Of course, Aberforth refused to take it, preferring instead to stay at the Hog's Head. It wasn't until after he died three years ago that I grudgingly moved in.”

 

“How did the house change you, then?”

 

“It was everything I had dreamed of, years ago.  Enormous, stately, opulent... and I found that over the years, my desires had changed drastically.  Now, its solitude is what I value. The space that allows me to have a fully functional lab. I find that I care very little for it's extravagances.  Realizing that I had changed so much was a sort of relief. I no longer wanted to be that sullen, petulant young man desperate to prove himself to the world.  And then, living in the house bequeathed to me by the man I had killed...” he trailed off, looking around as if he could see Dumbledore in every shadow of the house.

 

“You know that wasn't your fault,” Hermione said gently.  Severus waved his hand negligently.

 

“I've made my peace with it.  He was dying, and there was no other way that both saved Draco and proved my loyalty to the Dark Lord beyond a doubt.  Still, the fact that he left his home to me, knowing that I would be the one to cast the killing curse, went a long way to soothing my soul.  Being surrounded by so many reminders of the man forced me to face my resentments, my grief, and deal with them. I think, perhaps, that I learned to see myself a bit of the way he saw me.  Those things, combined with the fact that for the first time in my life I had no obligations to anyone, helped me let go of the past.” He took a drink of his tea and then set it back in the saucer, raising a brow.  “Are you certain you didn't lace this with something to make me maudlin?”

 

Hermione laughed and shook her head.  “Just hot water and tea leaves, I promise.”

 

“I suppose since you are the first person to ask, you got stuck with the longest version of the story.”  He smirked, then glanced at the door to the study. A small thump had come from within.

 

“Well I'm glad you were willing to tell it to me.  The fact that you did says perhaps more than anything about how much you've changed.”  She rose, setting her cup back on the tea service and cleaning it with her wand. “I ought to wake Atty if that wasn't him waking up on his own.  If he sleeps much longer he won't sleep at all tonight, and then neither of us will be happy in the morning.” Severus rose as well.

 

“I will leave you to your evening, then.  Don't worry about noise as you are unpacking.  The floors are very well insulated. I'll leave you a list of items to pick up when you shop tomorrow, as well as money, in the kitchen.”  He levitated the tea tray in front of him and went to the door. “Good evening, Miss Granger. I hope this is the start of an arrangement that benefits both of us.”

 

“Hermione,” she corrected gently.  “And I hope so, too. Sleep well, Severus.”

 

He inclined his head at her and then pulled the door closed behind him.

 

***

 

The next morning, Hermione got herself and Atticus dressed for the day and then headed down to the kitchen to make breakfast.  Severus hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said there wasn't much in the larder, so she made due with what was available and promised Atty that they could get a treat while they were out.  Her sweet little boy then proceeded to spill most of his breakfast down the front of his shirt, requiring an entire outfit change before they could finally get on their way. Hermione grabbed the list Severus had left, the (rather hefty) coin purse beside it, and started to head out the door.

 

And then realized they were nowhere near a rail station.  Should she try calling for a taxi? Was there even mobile service so far out into the countryside?  Frustrated, she thought again about her reasons for not simply Apparating them. It  _ was _ dangerous to Apparate with children who couldn't be trusted to stay still, especially if the adult wasn't strong in the skill.  Hermione had very little doubt about her ability on her own. But she knew she wasn't as capable at side-along. And even though it had only happened once, and there had been other circumstances beyond her control, her mind continually circled back to that one time she'd splinched Ron.  What if Atticus suddenly jerked or flailed? What if she was distracted by something at the last moment?

 

Just thinking about it made her feel sick.  No, it would have been far easier, but there was no way she could risk it.  She was digging through her bag in search of her mobile when Severus walked in.  Hermione caught a glance at him from the corner of her eye as she continued to rifle through her bag.  He was dressed in black woolen trousers, a black linen shirt, and a snug black waistcoat. Despite the familiarity of the sea of black, it was strange for her to see him without the long, formal frock coat and billowing robes.  This more casual look made him appear... more approachable. More human. 

 

“Missing something?”  He flicked his wand at the kettle and it whistled.  

 

“I was looking for my- ah, there it is.  My phone. I wasn't sure if there was service out here, but I thought I'd try to call for a taxi.”

 

“A taxi?”  His brows drew together in a scowl.   “Even if you could get one to agree to come, you do realize it would be two hours here and two hours back to town.  Not to mention that I imagine the fee would be exorbitant.”

 

Hermione wanted to stomp her foot in frustration.  “I don't suppose the night bus comes this far, then?”

 

“Doubtful.”

 

“Damnit,” she muttered, soft enough that Atticus didn't notice.  He'd taken up the habit of parroting anything she  _ didn't _ want him to repeat.

 

“Would you like assistance?”  Severus poured himself tea and sipped it while leaning against the counter.  His free hand was braced behind him and he stood with one foot crossed over the other.  The relaxed pose yet again seemed at odds with her every memory of the man. She sighed.

 

“No.  But I'm afraid I'm going to need it.  I just can't think of any other way for us to get to town.  It defeats the purpose of you paying me to do the shopping, though, if you have to stop what you're doing to cart us around.”

 

“It is not your fault that the house is so far from alternative means of transportation.  I am not in the middle of anything at the moment, so it's hardly an interruption for me. I can get you both to town, and you can get around from there well enough.”

 

“What about getting back?”

 

Severus sipped his tea and thought for a moment.  “Are you still capable of sending a Patronus?”

 

Hermione bit her lip.  It had been years since she'd needed to even attempt one.  And her life in the interim had not been easy. More than one witch or wizard had lost the ability.  But her eyes strayed to Atticus and she felt the overwhelming joy he brought to her life well up in her chest.  She smiled. “Yes, I can.”

 

“Perfect.  Simply send yours after me when you are finished.”   He drained the last of his tea and pushed away from the counter.  “Are you both ready to go?”

 

“Let me just brush the crumbs off Atty.”  Hermione picked her son up and gently divested him of the bits of toast that had taken up residence on his jumper.  “You're sure you don't mind? It seems like an inconvenience-”

 

“You'll find, Miss Granger, that one of the traits I retained from my former life is never making an offer I am not willing to follow through with.  If it was a bother to me, or I wasn't inclined, I would not have suggested it.”

 

Hermione did see a glimpse of the man he'd been before the end of the war, then.  A bit of formality, of rigidity, a small display of that rigorous code of honor that he held himself to.  She took a moment to appreciate that he wasn't the type of man to give empty promises. No honeyed words, but no false hope, either.  It was... refreshing. “Alright, then. Thank you. And it's Hermione.”

 

“As you say,” he inclined his head at her with a small smirk, then turned his attention to Atticus.  “Young Mister Granger, shall we take a trip again?” Atticus pointed one chubby finger at Severus and studied him.

 

“Sev'us.”

 

“Indeed.”  Severus didn't rush the boy.  He waited patiently while Atticus made up his mind.  After a moment, he held out his hands. Severus smothered his smile and instead said very solemnly, “You remember your mother's instructions from last time?”  Atticus nodded eagerly. “What were they?” The boy paused, sticking his finger in his mouth as he thought. Then he shook his head. Hermione laughed.

 

“Hold on very tightly, and don't let go for anything.  Try to stay still. Can you do that for Severus, love?”

 

Atticus nodded happily again, clutching at the lapels of Severus's vest and laying his head against his shoulder.  Severus cleared his throat, a little startled that a lump seemed to have formed there. “Ready, then?” Hermione nodded in agreement, and Severus let himself be pulled sideways into oblivion, then expanded once more in an alley at the edge of the village.  By the time Atticus was looking around, his mother appeared next to them with a soft crack. Severus set the boy down, and he ran to Hermione. When she took his hand, Atticus turned and held out his other hand to Severus.

 

“You come, Sev'us?”

 

Severus only stared for a moment.  That damn lump was back again. Perhaps he was coming down with a cold.  He shook his head. “Severus has more important things to do than go shopping with us, Atty.  Can you say 'thank you for the ride?'” Atticus cocked his head to the side, little brows drawn together in consternation.

 

“You come, Sev'us.”  It was more of a demand this time.  The boy looked two seconds away from stomping his foot.  He waved his hand at Severus, fully expecting the man to take it.

 

“Atty!”  Hermione admonished.  “That's no way to thank him for his help.  Say thank you, young man.” Atticus still looked at Severus stubbornly.  “Atticus Wendell Granger,  _ now _ .”  The little boy huffed, but dropped his hand.

 

“Tank you, Sev'us.”  Hermione swung him up into her arms with a smile.  

 

“That's better.  Good job.” She kissed his head, then looked back at Severus.  “Thank you again. I'll send my Patronus to the house when we're done.  I hope it won't take more than a few hours, but it might take me a while to familiarize myself with the village.”

 

Severus waved a hand negligently.  “None of the projects I am working on today are time sensitive, so you won't be interrupting anything.  Just send it whenever you are ready, and I will meet you both back here.”

 

“Alright, then.  We'll see you later on.”  She hitched Atticus on her hip and turned towards the street.  Atticus waved over her shoulder at Severus. Now there was a lump in his throat  _ and _ a tightness in his chest.  A health tonic was first on his to do list when he returned to the estate, no two ways about it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The 'few hours' that Hermione thought she would need to accomplish the shopping turned into  _ several _ hours.  Purchasing the things on Severus's list were easy enough, but all he had down were basic staples that he preferred.  Things like tea and beans were well and good, but they did not a meal make. She bought groceries enough for three meals a day, for three people, for two weeks.  Then household necessities like loo paper, soap, and laundry detergent. 

 

Atticus was tired and cranky, and threw a fit in the supermarket while Hermione was looking for ripe avocados.  Then it wasn't until after they left the store that Hermione remembered that she shouldn't shrink the produce, or it would bruise.  So she spent the rest of the afternoon carting around the bags. Lunch turned out to be another disaster. There were only two dining establishments in the little village.  One was a pub that looked rather rowdy, and Hermione dismissed it immediately. The other, a little sandwich shop, was packed to the gills with noonday customers.

 

As they'd stood in the queue waiting their turn to order, one of the handles on Hermione's shopping bag had broken, spilling peaches all over the deli floor.  If they had been in a wizarding establishment, she would have simply summoned them all and mended the bag, but of course, there were dozens of muggles around and she was forced to pick them all up by hand.  Juggling the bags, Atticus, as well as their sandwiches was nearly more than Hermione could handle.

 

Once they'd eaten, she found the one wizarding general store in town.  Hermione considered shrinking the bags and putting up with bruised produce, but stopped herself when she remembered that they weren't just for her and Atty.  They were for Severus too, and she was spending  _ his _ money.  Instead, she simply mended the broken handle, cast a lightening charm on the bags, and gathered the other items she needed.

 

By the time she'd purchased the de-gnomer, ink, parchment, and other potion ingredients Severus had requested, it was starting to get dark and Hermione was at the end of her tether.  It seemed as if everything that could go wrong, had. To top it all off, it had started to drizzle. If she had a hand free, it would have been easy to step into an alley and transfigure an umbrella, or even cast a drying charm.  But her wand was up her sleeve, and she couldn't get to it without putting everything down in the mud, including Atty.

 

With her teeth, Hermione pulled Atty's hood up higher over his head and set off for the Apparition point.  Once in the relative seclusion of the alley, she shifted Atticus on her hip and had the little boy reach up her sleeve for her wand.  He pulled it out, laughing at the little blue sparks that always shot off whenever he touched her wand, and then let Hermione take it from him with the two free fingers she had on her right hand.  For a moment, Hermione felt so bedraggled, so chilled and miserable, that she didn't feel she had it within her to conjure her silvery otter. But resolutely, she closed her eyes and picked a happy memory.

 

The image of Atticus, red and a little squashed, popped into her mind.  She remembered vividly the first time she'd held him. After hours of grueling labor, she had memorized every little wrinkle on his nose, the exact color of his eyes, the sound of his cry.  It was a kind of love, a kind of joy, the likes of which she'd never known. As if he could sense she was thinking of him, Atticus rested his head against Hermione's heart. Exactly the way he had when the nurse had first handed him to her.  The otter, brighter than she'd ever remembered it being, sprung from the tip of her wand and circled around them playfully. Atticus shrieked in delight, and then it flashed out of sight.

 

Five minutes later, Severus appeared next to Hermione and Atticus with hardly a sound.  Even though the memory of holding Atticus for the first time had warmed her, Hermione was still wet and bedraggled.  Severus took one look at her and shook his head. With a series of wand flicks, he dried her, heated her, and levitated Atticus into his arms.

 

“Rough day?” he asked needlessly.

 

“You don't want to know,” she muttered.

 

“Can you manage those bags until we get back to the house?”  He gestured to the bulging produce bags she carried. Hermione nodded tiredly.  Severus looked at her askance, not entirely sure she meant it. He grabbed two of the bags, looped them over his wrist, and then wrapped his arms around Atticus.  “Holding on tight?” he asked the little boy.

 

Atticus nodded.  “Yes, Sev'us!”

 

“Good.  All ready then?”  He waited for Hermione's nod, then Apparated them home.  He slid gently sideways into the kitchen. Hermione appeared next to him a moment later.  She dumped the bags onto the counter and immediately started the kettle. Atticus squirmed until Severus set him down, then ran around the kitchen happily.  “Is...is there any way I can assist you?” Severus looked uncertainly around the kitchen. She was enlarging bags and packages, pulling out items that he didn't even recognize.  He might be a master in a potions lab, but in the kitchen he was as ignorant as a firstie. There was a reason he knew the location of every good take out place within Apparation distance.

 

“What?”  Hermione looked up from the bag she'd been sorting through, then cursed softly when she realized the ice cream had melted.  “No, that's alright. I'll manage. Thank you for picking us up, though.”

 

He ignored her thanks and gestured to the dripping ice cream container she held.  “You can refreeze that with a very simple charm.” He noticed her eyes rove upward, as if she was barely suppressing rolling them.  She sighed.

 

“I know.  But it's never quite as creamy after that.”  She cast the charm on the tub and it stopped dripping immediately.  “Sorry about that.”

 

“I am not partial to ice cream, so it is hardly an apology worthy offense to me.”  Hermione finished putting away the freezer items and started making a sandwich for Atty's dinner.  Perhaps not the most nutritionally diverse meal, but it was all she had the stamina for.

 

“You don't like ice cream?”  She found the peanut butter in one of the bags and shot a disbelieving look at Severus.  “Everyone likes ice cream.”

 

Severus smirked at her generalization.  “Really? I had no idea,” he drawled in mock surprise.  “If only I'd known, I would have been able to reverse years of personal preferences.”

 

“Ha. Ha.”  This time, Hermione  _ did _ roll her eyes.  “Well all  _ normal _ people like ice cream.”  She handed the sandwich to Atticus and set him at the table to eat it.

 

“Now that is one thing no one has ever accused me of being.”

 

Hermione shot a glance at him, not sure from his tone if he was offended.  In school, she would have expected a scathing insult to follow a statement like that.  Far from upset, he looked totally relaxed, leaning one shoulder against the doorway. “I'm sure they haven't,” she agreed.  Their eyes met, held for just a moment longer than either was comfortable with. He straightened away from the door frame.

 

“Well, if you're quite certain you require no help-”

 

“No, I'm alright.  Thank you again. For the ride and the offer.”

 

“A pleasure,” he replied.  Then, after a small salute at Atticus, he turned and left the kitchens.

 

***

 

Two hours later, Hermione slowly made her way down the stairs from the attic.  She was exhausted and so hungry that her stomach hurt. But the shopping had all been put neatly away, Atticus fed and bathed and put to bed.  She left the monitoring charm on his bedroom and went in search of desperately needed sustenance. 

 

The kitchen was dark, and Hermione felt along the wall for the light switch.  Nothing met her fingers but smooth wall. She moved the other direction, trying to make out more than vague shadows by the pale moonlight.  No switch. Frustrated, she reached for her wand. A quick  _ lumos _ would fix-  Her wand was still up in the attic.  She groaned aloud in disappointment. There was no way in hades she wanted to trek back up those stairs for it.  She had spent some time studying wandless magic, but she wasn't proficient enough to  _ accio _ her wand from three stories away.

 

Muttering every curse word she knew – and a few she made up on the spot – she stumbled blindly towards the cabinets and yanked one open.  Her hand moved over boxes and bags, not having any clue what they were. Finally, she pulled a jar out and made her peace with having a mystery dinner.  Spoils in hand, she moved back towards the table, clipping her hip on the corner of it painfully before she managed to drop down into a chair. 

 

The prospect of searching for cutlery of some kind was daunting, so she stuck her finger in the jar and brought the creamy lump that came out up to her lips.  Peanut butter. Well, it wasn't the worst thing she'd made a meal of. She licked her finger clean and scooped out a second dollop. Her throat felt tight and she sniffled a little.  But she was  _ not _ crying.  It hadn't been that bad of a day, after all.  She hadn't needed to spend any of her own money on the groceries, there was now a full larder at her disposal, and she didn't have to worry about her and Atty being thrown out in the street at any moment.  She was just feeling a bit overwhelmed, that was all. She was drained, physically and emotionally.

 

Despite how difficult things had gotten, Hermione had no regrets.  The consequences of mistakes in her youth had been no walk in the park, but she had gotten Atticus from them.  And no matter how frustrating being a single parent could be, she had never once wished he hadn't come along. There were times, like now, that she wondered how much easier things could be if she had a partner to help share the load, someone she could rely on, even just someone to share her thoughts with...  But if her dating history was any indication, such a dream was a long way out. 

 

Maybe that was for the best.  Now that she was living at Snape's –  _ Severus' _ – house, it wasn't as if she could bring a beau home with her.  And besides, if how emotionally depleted she felt at the moment was any indication, she didn't have the energy for a relationship anyhow.  A dating embargo was in order, then. It wasn't as if she had wizards lining up to woo her, so she didn't think the change would be much of a loss.  She sniffled again, feeling utterly foolish.

 

So she was a single mother without a home of her own, working a menial job, and no prospects.  It could be worse. She could still be in Paris. She shuddered. No, she was far better off as a glorified maid than back in Paris.  So why were her eyes still burning? Foolish, foolish sentiments.

 

“ _ Lumos _ .”

 

Hermione jumped and squealed around a finger full of peanut butter.  She blinked, trying to see in the sudden, soft light.

 

“Miss Granger?”  Snape's deep drawl sent her from panic down to mild dread.  “What the devil are you doing?” As he watched, she licked the last of the peanut butter from her finger and looked up guiltily.

 

“Having dinner.”

 

“In the dark?”

 

“I couldn't find the light switch,” she explained miserably.

 

“And your wand was not utilized because...” he left the statement dangling.

 

“I forgot to bring it down with me and didn't want to bother going back up for it.”

 

“So instead you decided that a meal of plain peanut butter, eaten with your fingers, in the dark, by yourself, was a better option?”

 

Hermione wished his wand was lower so she could see his face.  His voice was totally deadpan once more, giving nothing of his emotions away.  She was mortified to hear herself sniff again. In an effort to regain some composure, she shrugged.  Yes, very poised indeed.

 

There was a rustling, and then Severus flipped on the light.  Once Hermione could see again, she noted it's location. Over the hob. How convenient.   _ Not. _  The she watched as he pulled a myriad of small boxes from the bags he'd set on the table.

 

“As appealing as your choice for the evening was, perhaps you won't mind if I offer an alternative?”

 

“By all means,” Hermione agreed, bringing her errant emotions to heel.

 

“Do you object to Indian takeaway?”

 

“Not at all.”  Her mouth was already watering at the idea of curry and naan.  “But I don't want to rob you of your own supper.”

 

“I brought back enough for three, actually.  I was going to leave some here in  _ stasis _ for you.  Atticus is already in bed?”

 

“Out till morning.  He sleeps like the dead after a busy day like today.”

 

“Then would you care for company, or would you rather continue your meal on your own?”

 

“I don't mind the company if you don't have other plans.”

 

“None at all.”  He sat down across from her and began to split up the food.  They sat quietly for a few minutes, passing dishes back and forth.  When their hands brushed as they both reached for the naan, Severus cleared his throat and broke the silence.  “In the future, perhaps it will be easier if I accompany you on shopping trips. It was remiss of me not to show you the village today.  Between the items I requested and your own errands, you must have had your hands full.”

 

“Next time it won't be nearly as stressful,” she assured him.  “It's always hardest getting the first round of supplies. I think perhaps I let stress get the better of me today.  It won't happen again.” One day on the job and he already thought she needed help? It wasn't a good sign.

 

“I understand if you are having some difficulty settling in, Hermione.  I wasn't doubting your abilities; merely offering my assistance.”

 

“You've already done more to help me out that I had any right to ask,” she said softly.  “But I appreciate your offer and I will take you up on it if I need.”

 

That seemed to placate him.  There was another stretch of silence, interrupted only by the sound of their cutlery.  “I am surprised, despite your extenuating circumstances, that you found yourself in such straits,” Severus finally said.  Hermione stared at the curry on her plate, not sure if she was willing to explain any more than he already knew. Before she could think better of it, though, the words were tripping off her tongue.

 

“I assume you know that I got married not long after graduating,” she started, seeing him nod from the peripheral of her vision.  “It was a rash decision. I allowed myself to be swept off my feet and get caught up in my first real romance. Before I knew it, I had left behind my home, my friends, my whole life, to start over in France with my husband.  I was taking courses at the University in Paris. We had an... understanding... that after I graduated, we would return to Great Britain so I could start work at the Ministry. Things... didn't go as planned. Two and a half years ago I left France without my husband.  

 

“Most of my friends had moved away and started families of their own.  The years I had spent isolated came back to haunt me. My education was very specifically suited to a career that was no longer open to me.  Minerva was the one who helped me get work researching for an Arithmancy paper. It was the perfect solution until the paper was abruptly concluded, and at the same time, my landlord found that he needed his flat back.  The one I was in that you saw, in Kittering, was a temporary place well above my budget, but it was the only decent place I could find on short notice. If I had been on my own, I could have found a tenement in London or just stayed in that ratty tent we used while hunting horcruxes.  But I couldn't put Atty in a situation like that.”

 

“Why did you not seek financial assistance from your former husband?  As the mother of his child, surely you are entitled to aid.”

 

“I have no intention of contacting him for anything.  Ever.” The finality in her tone made Severus drop the subject.  Obviously things had not ended well between them. His stomach twisted at the thought that maybe she had been abused in some way, but he pushed it away.  She was Hermione bloody Granger. Brightest witch of her age, brains of the Golden Trio, woman who had dared defy the Dark Lord at every turn. The idea of her letting a man push her around was laughable.  Still,  _ something _ had to have happened to make her feel so vehemently about not having any contact with him again.  Especially when it could have made life easier for her child.

 

Hermione was glad that Severus didn't push her for more information.  It was the most she'd ever spoken to someone about her situation, and while she was glad that she had told him, she wasn't ready to share any more.  “What have you been doing since the war ended?” she asked lightly.

 

“Brewing, mostly.  Research as well. Despite my exodus in disgrace from the school, I have been invited on more than one occasion to return.  The likelihood of that is about as much as Hagrid suddenly becoming a master baker, though.”

 

“Did you really hate teaching so much?”  On this, she was genuinely curious. Despite his rather coarse methods, Professor Snape had been an exceptional teacher.  It was always obvious, though, that he disliked his post.

 

“Becoming a professor was not my choice.  I was ill suited for the position from the start, and years as a spy only worsened my disdain.  Passing on knowledge to those who wish to learn, to those with the predisposition to retain it, is no hardship.  But that was perhaps one or two students out of several hundred. The rest of my time was spent keeping terrified frog-huggers from blowing themselves up, and reading long-winded essays from over intelligent swots.”  He gave her a knowing smirk. Hermione felt herself laugh at his good natured barb.

 

“You shouldn't be so hard on Neville,” she chided.  “I hear he has become quite the Herbologist.”

 

“Far be it from me to criticize the boy.  I'm quite fond of him now, if you can believe that.”  He chuckled softly at Hermione's shocked expression. “He killed that bloody snake.  Even if he blows up a hundred more cauldrons, I shall forever have a soft spot for him.”

 

“And here I didn't think you had any soft spots at all,” she teased.  His expression grew somewhat mocking.    
  


“Don't you read the papers, woman?  According to the gossip rags, I am made up entirely of soft spots, held together with bubble gum and kittens.”

 

Hermione laughed again.  “No one who has known you for any length of time would believe such a fallacy.  You might not be quite the impervious titan we all thought you before, but surely being a man is better than being a legend.”

 

“Impervious titan?”  One raven brow lifted.  “Why Miss Granger, that might be the most charitable description anyone has ever given of my mien as a professor.”

 

“Surely not.”

 

“Have no doubt of it,” he returned.  “Even after my exoneration, there were not many nice words linked to my time teaching.  Not that I blame them. I played my role very well, and likely neither of us would be here now if I hadn't.”

 

“I imagine you're right,” Hermione agreed.  Since she didn't know what else to say, she changed the subject.  “I thought tomorrow I would get started on giving the house a good once over from top to bottom.  Would you like me to leave your room be for now?” He was sure to notice the non sequitur, but she didn't care.  The ease with which he discussed the past, accepted his actions as both right and necessary, unnerved her. She carried so much deeply buried guilt over things that happened during the war and then after, that it was hard for her to understand how he seemed to have moved past things so easily.  Yes, he had said it had taken him years to reach that point, but Hermione felt that her guilt would  _ never _ go away. 

 

“Yes, that would be wise.  Was there enough money for all the things you needed to buy today?”  He ignored her change of topic, as if sensing she was uncomfortable.

 

“More than.  I put the remainder in the jar on the mantle.”

 

“Good.  Do not be afraid to use it if you discover something else the house needs.”

 

“I won't.”  Once more silence fell between them.  Suddenly, Hermione felt the exhaustion of the day weighing on her heavily.  She barely stifled her yawn as she gathered up their plates. “I think it's time for me to get some sleep.  Thank you for the food. And the light. And the company.” She flashed him a tired smile.

 

“The pleasure was mine, I assure you.”  When she moved to take their dishes to the sink, he stopped her.  “Leave this to me. I'm sure you'll do enough cleaning after me in the coming days.”  She put down the dishes but paused, uncertain. He shooed her away. “Off to bed with you.  Much later and I will be tempted to deduct house points for you being out past curfew.”

 

“No detention?” she asked with a laugh.

 

“You have signed yourself on to three months of live-in detention.  I doubt there is more I can do on that score.”

 

Hermione scoffed.  “If this had been what all your detentions were like, I doubt any student would have been inclined to behave in your class.”  She turned and went through the door. “Fortunately for you, the dungeons were freezing,” she called back.

 

***

 

The next day Hermione began going over the house.  She left the boxes that still needed unpacked in her own quarters to be handled on her own time, and started with the bathrooms on the upper floors.  Even with efficient wand work, it took her all morning to finish getting everything cleaned, stocked, and organized. Atticus chased a charmed toy truck up and down the halls as she gathered linens from the guest bedrooms, turned mattresses, and  _ evanesco _ ed the dust that had gathered.

 

Once she had all the linens levitated down to the laundry room, she cleaned herself up and took Atticus into the kitchen to make lunch.  While she boiled noodles and simmered sauce, he chewed on a bread stick and made airplane noises with it. When the spaghetti was done she plated a small portion for Atty, tried not to cringe at the mess he was bound to make, and handed it to the little boy to feed himself.  As Atticus dug eagerly into his meal with both hands, Hermione wondered what she should do about Severus' lunch. Should she go down to the lab and tell him that she had cooked? Leave a plate for him with a stasis charm? The only thing she knew she  _ didn't _ want to do was ignore the issue completely.  Especially after he had so graciously fed her the night before.  

 

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, still torn as to what she should do.  Before she came to a decision, she saw a familiar black clad figure stroll into the kitchen.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss- Hermione,” he corrected himself.  “Good afternoon Atticus.”

 

“Sev'us!”  Atticus waved a sauce covered hand in the air, flinging red droplets in several directions.  Hermione caught them with a quick spell and deposited them in the sink. She fought a blush, realizing that the kitchen looked disastrous, and her son was only making matters worse.  Severus, however, didn't comment.

 

“I was just about to venture to the labs and let you know there was lunch, if you wanted,” she blurted.  In truth, she hadn't decided for sure one way or another, but knowing herself as well as she did, it was likely that she would have eventually decided on seeking him out.

 

“Oh-” he looked somewhat startled.  It was a strange reaction from him; he always seemed to know what was coming next, always seemed so collected.  “Thank you, it smells lovely.” At that, she handed him a plate and gestured for him to take a portion from the simmering pot.  He piled noodles, sauce, vegetables, and bread onto the plate and then moved towards the table. Even though he set his plate down, he remained standing behind his chair until Hermione had sat down with her own meal.  It seemed like a rather formal gesture, but Hermione was touched none the less. “This is delicious,” he praised after a few bites.

 

“Thank you.  It was my mother's recipe.”

 

“Was?”

 

Hermione's eyes grew sad, and she toyed with her fork before replying.  “She and my father were killed three years ago in an accident.”

 

“I had no idea,” Severus choked out, cursing himself at once for his insensitivity and for not having known that.  “I am very sorry for your loss.”

 

“Thank you,” she murmured.  “In a way, it was probably better that they went together.  I can't imagine one of them having to carry on with the other.  They were childhood sweethearts.”

 

“It seems they were very lucky to have each other, and for you to have had them as parents.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Severus cleared his throat, casting about for something, anything to say.  “It's a shame I never got to meet them. I have always thought Hogwarts should have some sort of conference between parents and professors.  Even if just once a year.”

 

“That would have been nice,” Hermione smiled.  “They were always very proud of my achievements as a student.  I think they would have enjoyed getting the chance to hear directly from my teachers.”  Neither of them mentioned that Severus would likely not have had many pleasant things to say about Hermione during her younger years.  “You really ought to mention that idea to Minerva. It would be lovely if they followed through with it for future classes.”

 

“Perhaps I will.  Though it will likely mean having to sit through another lecture as Minerva recounts to me the myriad reasons she believes I should return to teaching.  The woman has no idea how to take 'no' for an answer.”

 

Hermione laughed at the picture of him being chided by the current headmistress.  “Gryffindor tenacity,” she agreed with a nod of her head. “But you can't blame her for wanting to get one of her best teachers back.”

 

Severus scoffed.  “Such praise, coming from the Arithmancy star?  The Ancient Runes savant?”

 

“I said  _ one of _ the best, didn't I?  Besides, I was good enough to make it into Slughorn's Slug Club, despite not having a natural predisposition towards potions.  So you must have been an excellent teacher, after all.”

 

“Either that, or I belittled you so much that you made it your personal mission to do well, just to spite me.”

 

Hermione shrugged, “It might have been both.”  Atticus broke the silence that fell between them after that by dumping the rest of his spaghetti over his head and squealing in delight.  Hermione chastised him, chagrined at the display. To her surprise, though, Severus flicked his wand at the mess and suddenly the spilled noodles were floating in the air.  Atticus watched them, mesmerized. Severus gestured with the tip of his wand slightly, and a small barrage of the noodles began to weave their way towards Atticus' mouth. Delighted, the boy opened and ate the bite.  He chewed, swallowed, clapped his hands, and then opened for another mouthful.

 

“Did you continue your study of potions at University at all?” he asked her as he sent another scoop of noodles into Atticus' waiting mouth.

 

“A little.”  Despite knowing that this new Snape likely wouldn't belittle her for it, Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit abashed.  “I never got past Mage qualifications, though.”

 

“I'm surprised you got even that far, if potions wasn't your main area of study.  Not many do.”

 

Hermione felt herself straighten a bit at the praise.  Yes, it was absolutely childish and ridiculous to take such delight in his compliment.  But that didn't stop her from enjoying it. She had sought this man's approval for years in her youth.  To have it, even all this time later, was immensely satisfying. “Thank you.”

 

The last bite of the floating spaghetti sailed smoothly into Atticus' mouth just as Hermione finished her own meal.  “Would you like seconds?” she offered Severus. “There's plenty left.”

 

“Thank you, but no.  I was barely able to finish what I took the first time, truth be told.  It was too delicious to leave on the plate, though. I see you weren't exaggerating when you said that you can cook.”

 

“I was a very quick study in the kitchen.”  Suddenly, the thought of  _ why _ she'd focused so much on learning to cook crossed her mind and her face soured slightly.  “I'll just leave the leftovers in the fridge, then, so they'll be available if you get hungry again in the afternoon.”  He nodded, rising and taking his plate to the sink. When he started to rinse it, Hermione gently but firmly took the plate from his hand.  “Allow me, please.”

 

Severus resisted, unaccustomed to someone cleaning up directly after him.  Dusting the empty guest rooms was one thing. Washing his dirty dishes was another.  “I am perfectly capable,” he asserted somewhat stiffly.

 

“I'm sure you are.  But this is what you hired me for, right?”

 

“Not – exactly,” he drawled, wondering again if their arrangement wasn't doomed from the start.

 

“I was under the impression that things like this were exactly what the job description entailed.”  She raised a brow at him.

 

“I specifically recall placing an advertisement for an estate manager, not a personal servant.  It is hardly my desire to make you follow me around all day picking up my mess. I am a tidy person by nature, anyway.”

 

“A fact for which I am grateful,” Hermione admitted with a laugh.  “It will make my job infinitely easier. Still, I don't mind washing a few dirty dishes when you so graciously provided the funds that bought the food.”

 

“I thought that the cook wasn't supposed to be required to clean, regardless of where the ingredients came from,” he challenged, but then moved away from the sink to leave her in peace.  “But I won't argue with you. I know when not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

 

Hermione snorted.  “Gift horse, indeed.”

 

“And on that note, I will take my leave of you both.”  He gave Atticus the now familiar salute and inclined his head towards Hermione.  “Thank you again for a lovely meal.”

 

After giving Atticus a bath and laying him down for his afternoon nap, Hermione started the wash and then began cleaning the rooms on the main level of the house.  It took several spells before she could get rid of all the dust, and then she set about tidying the place up. Severus hadn't been lying when he said he was naturally a tidy man.  There were only a few things she found lying about. Books dotted here and there, needing to be brought back to the library and shelved. Three different spoons tucked away into rather random seeming locations.

 

When Atty woke up again, Hermione was just pulling the linens from the dryer.  She set him once more chasing the charmed toy truck up and down the hall while she replaced the sheets and towels.  After that, she decided to be done for the day. Severus had never specifically outlined work hours for her, but she was certain he didn't expect her to clean from sun up to sun set.  With how he had treated her so far, she rather thought he would be upset at the idea.

 

She took Atty up to their rooms and set him to working on several puzzles while she unpacked boxes.  Soon enough, the space looked like it was theirs. Atty's toys were piled neatly in his toybox, her tea service laid out on the table, her favorite pillows and throw casually tossed on the couch.  She had only a moment to sit down and enjoy the comfort of being surrounded by her own things when Atty pulled her down to the floor to show her his completed puzzles.

 

She spent another hour playing on the floor with him before his stomach growled loudly.  He was loathe to end playtime, but when she promised tacos for supper, he ran from the room excitedly.  He was bouncing off the warding spell at the top of the stairs when Hermione caught up to him, laughing.

 

She set him to work shredding a pile of lettuce while she gathered the rest of the ingredients and prepared them.  Before long, the kitchen was filled with the smell of spices and the sound of Atticus' laughter. When everything was ready, Hermione set Atticus in his booster chair and gave him a taco shell to munch while she went in search of Severus.  At the last minute before she left the kitchen, she cast her monitoring charm on her son. He would likely sit happily destroying the shell until she was back, but she would rather be able to watch him, just in case. It was amazing the mischief a two year old could get into in a matter of minutes.

 

  
She assumed Severus was still down in the lab since the rest of the house was quiet.  The door at the stairs to the basement wasn't locked or warded, so she opened it and went down.  At the bottom of the steps she paused. He had his back to her, and appeared to be bent over a cauldron.  If he was at a delicate stage in brewing, she didn't want to distract him. She waited, one minute, then two.  Just when she was getting ready to go back up the stairs and try back later, he turned.

 

“Er, hi.” Even to her own ears it sounded ridiculous.  She fought to keep her embarrassment from her face.

 

“Hello,” he returned the greeting with one raven brow cocked.  Then he waited. Silently. Patiently. Hermione fought the urge to fidget.  A nervous chuckle escaped her.

 

“I was just coming to let you know that dinner was ready, if you wanted some.”  She smothered her self-consciousness. “Tacos. They're Atty's favorite.”

 

Severus nodded hesitantly.  “I've finished my brewing for the day, and dinner sounds lovely.”  When he reached her at the bottom of the stairs, he stopped her ascent with the touch of one finger on her shoulder.  “Hermione, you do realize that you are not expected to prepare my meals?”

 

“With how much you're paying me, it wouldn't be an unfair request, but I know you haven't asked me to.  I'm going to be cooking for Atty and myself anyways, so I don't see any reason not to make enough for three.  You shouldn't feel it necessary to eat what I make, or join us if you're not inclined, but-”

 

“Inclination will not be lacking.  And if all your cooking is half as good as lunch, then I'll be more than happy to partake.  I just do not want you feeling like a slave here. If this arrangement is going to work out, then this will be your home.  It is... important to me that you are comfortable here.”

 

Hermione smiled at him.  Again and again he reminded her that no matter what their history together was, he was far more than the cruel man she'd once known.  “Thank you. That truly means more to me than I can say. And honestly, as long as Atticus is happy, then I will be too. You've been so good to us, and I'm glad I can repay at least a little of that.”

 

Severus nodded, following her up the stairs without saying anything else.  Despite her assurances, he had to wonder about her happiness. She was a mother, first, that much was clear.  But she was still a woman, with desires and dreams like any other. Surely she wanted more from her life than to be washing her old professor's socks and cooking his meals.

 

As they ate, Severus answered Hermione's questions about the potion he'd been brewing.  Atticus contributed to the conversation with one word exclamations and by repeating silly sounding words back at them.  As much as Hermione loved her son's childish chattering, it was a delight to be able to engage an adult in intelligent conversation.  While her knowledge of potions was far inferior to his own, he seemed interested in her observations and answered her questions patiently.

 

By the time they finished eating, Hermione felt refreshed.  Invigorated in a way she hadn't been in a long time. While working on the research paper, she'd had plenty of time to exercise her mind, but it had been solitary.  How long had it been since she had the chance to discuss academic pursuits with another like minded individual? Her last days at University? Far too long...

 

“This has been extremely pleasant,” she told him as she was gathering up the dishes.

 

“Indeed,” he agreed, handing Atticus the cup Hermione had placed just out of his reach.

 

“Don't you dare dump that on the floor, Atticus,” she warned him.  “Or we won't go for our walk.” The little boy looked dutifully chagrined and sipped from the cup delicately.

 

“Walk?” Severus inquired.  Hermione nodded and cast a quick cleansing spell at the dishes, then began putting away the leftovers.

 

“I wanted to work in the gardens tomorrow, but I thought I should take a look around tonight and make sure I know where it's not safe for him to go.  I'd like to ward off any particularly dangerous areas as well, if you're still not opposed.”

 

“Of course.”  He rose and took the sealed containers to the refrigerator.  “I could accompany you, if you wanted, to show you the gardens and explain any plants you are unfamiliar with.”  He kept his back to her as he asked the question, taking his time arranging the food carefully. Why was he holding his breath as he waited for her to answer?

 

“Oh!”  Hermione paused, completely surprised by his offer.  “You wouldn't mind? I'm sure you had other plans this evening-”  He turned, watching her carefully.

 

Not long ago, Severus would have assumed her uncertainty was because she didn't wish to be around him and was simply too polite to say so.  But for the most part, he'd put his self deprecation and doubts behind him. It would have been just as easy for Hermione to tell him that she thought they could get along perfectly well without him, or even say she wanted to spend the evening alone with her son.  Instead, he wondered why she seemed constantly convinced that any offer would be rescinded. As though she felt that she could only be an inconvenience.

 

“I had no other plans, and I would not have suggested it if I were not happy to go along.  I am far too selfish to be philanthropic. And I will remind you again, I do not make offers I have no intention to follow through with.”  His voice was gentle, the chiding light. Hermione studied him for a moment, then nodded. She smiled a little and Severus felt his heart rate speed up.  Perhaps a walk would be good for him in more ways than one. Obviously he needed to see better to his cardiovascular health. His blood pressure must be too high if he was suddenly developing tachycardia.

 

“Alright, then,” she murmured.  “We would like that. Right Atty?  Would you like Severus to come with us on our walk?”

 

“Sev'us come too?”  He looked between the two of them.  “Sev'us come Sev'us come Sev'us come!”  He pounded on the table with little fists as he chanted.

 

“Okay, okay, that's enough.  Come here and let's wash your hands before we go.”  She lifted him from the booster seat and leaned him over the sink so he could rub his hands together under the water.  Once she'd dried his hands, she put on his shoes and zipped him into his jacket. Severus pulled his cloak from the foyer closet and frowned when he saw that Hermione wore nothing over her jumper.

 

“The wind in the evenings can be quite cool here.”

 

She looked down at her sweater. It was warm, and she didn't plan to be outside too terribly long.  “My coat's upstairs. I'll be fine. Nothing a cup of tea won't cure when we get back.” She ushered Atticus through the front door.  Severus narrowed his eyes at her back, plucked his travelling cloak from the closet, and dripped it around her shoulders at he caught up to them.

 

“Perhaps it would be prudent to place your coat in the foyer closet.”  He kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring her look of surprise. “For convenience.”

 

“Sure,” she said softly, smiling at him again.  “Thank you.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” he returned.

 

But she did.  The cloak was heavy and far too large on her, but it smelled of spice and sandalwood.  In a way, it felt as if the man himself was wrapped around her. It seemed... strangely intimate.  And exceptionally considerate. A few hours out in the evening air wouldn't have harmed her any. But obviously the idea of her uncomfortable in the cold bothered him.  Enough for him to take the matter into his own hands even after she'd said she would be fine.

 

Atticus ran ahead of them across the lawn and they walked behind at a more leisurely pace.  She trusted that Severus would call out for him if he got near anything potentially dangerous.  Hermione divided her time between watching her son and taking discreet glances at the man beside her.  For the most part, he looked the same. His face was a little softer, perhaps, his body not quite so gaunt, but the features that made him recognizable were unchanged.  He was still pale, and sported a hooked nose and vaguely crooked teeth.

 

His manners, though, had altered significantly.  Before, he'd been prone to flying into fits of rage at the slightest insult.  Aside from the day they'd first met with each other, he hadn't lost his temper once.  Before, he'd seemed proud, stiff, almost demeaningly formal. Now, he was far more relaxed.  She found the changes worked to give him a far more appealing appearance. He was... arresting, physically.  And the few times she'd seen him smile, he'd even seemed almost handsome.

 

Suddenly, she tucked her windblown hair behind her ear, feeling self conscious.  She was wearing comfortable jeans and an over-sized sweater, with no make up and no hairstyle.  Not that she felt the need to dress up to take a walk with her employer. Since he would be showing her the gardens, it was practically a business meeting.  So why was she suddenly aware of the bleach spatters on her jeans and the streak of dirt on her hand? Merlin, what if she had a smudge of dirt on her nose? She just barely kept her cheeks from turning pink and ducked her head a little to swipe at her nose, just in case.

 

“Have you looked your fill, then?”  His deep, mildly amused voice broke into her reverie.  All the willpower in the world couldn't have stopped her blush then.  She felt her face go scarlet and looked properly contrite at having been caught oogling him.

 

“Sorry,” she said quickly, leaning her head forward slightly so her hair fell around her in a curtain.  “I was just... thinking.”

 

“And what conclusions have you reached?”   She could tell he wasn't upset, but he didn't seem ready to pass up the opportunity to tease her.

 

“Just that you are far different than the man I remember.  And,” she went on before he could say anything, “the changes are for the better.”  He studied her for long moments before flicking his gaze away to where Atticus was playing.

 

“I am... not certain how to respond to that.”

 

“It's just an observation,” she said quickly.  “I thought, when I first saw you and realized that you were the one who placed the ad, that there was no way it would work.  Not because of your actions during the war, but-” She paused, not sure quite how to say what she wanted. “I just hadn't expected you to be so... nice.  Not that I expected you to be mean, but I thought perhaps you would feel the way you used to about me, and that you would still have that razor sharp tongue, not that I would have held that against you-” She realized she was rambling at break neck speed and stopped.  “It seems that lately, my fortitude isn't what it once was. And I wasn't certain that my ridiculous, fragile ego could withstand any blows.”

 

They came to a stop, and Severus' eyes tracked Atticus running across the open expanse of lawn before settling on Hermione.  He raised his hand hesitantly, then placed the tip of his finger beneath her chin and raised it so their eyes met. “I said that I do not regret my actions during the war because they were necessary, and that is true.  But I took no pleasure in the cruel things I said to you. It is not my intention to repeat any of them or their ilk ever again.”

 

Hermione swallowed hard, attempting to fight the nearly hypnotic draw of his eyes and failing badly.  “I know that. Realistically, I didn't expect you to spend all your time insulting me or demeaning me.  But I also know that my life since you last knew me would have given you plenty of fodder if you'd been so inclined.”  Severus lowered his had from her face and stuffed it in the pocket of his cloak before he did something so foolish as to attempt what would inevitably be an awkward and uncomfortable embrace.

 

“I will not deny that your actions have seemed at odds with the young woman that I knew you as before.  And I am more curious than I care to admit about the events that led you to make the decisions you have.  But when and if you decide to share the details of that part of your life with me, I can assure you that I will think no less of you for them.”  His eyes again flicked to Atticus and he felt his lips curl into a slight smile. “You have become a well grounded woman and a fantastic mother.”

 

“Thank you for saying so,” she whispered, blinking away the burning behind her eyes.

 

“There is no need to thank me.  I am not a man prone to idle flattery, and I would not have said so if it was not the truth.”

 

“Even still... thank you.”  Hermione had no intention of admitting to him that she doubted herself at nearly every turn.  That deep down, in the most private part of herself, she feared that she was failing her son and herself.  That his praise meant the world to her – all the more because it came from  _ him _ .

 

“You are welcome.”

 

They walked on again, in silence this time.  When they caught up to where Atticus was playing, the little boy ran over to his mother and threw his arms around her legs.  She lifted him up and hugged him tightly, glad for the excuse to press a dozen little kisses to his face. He giggled uncontrollably and then wiggled until she set him back down.

 

Severus showed Hermione the long rows of plants that stretched through the garden.  He swooped Atticus into his arms when they reached the section containing belladonna, nightshade, and other poisonous herbs.  After they moved past the gardens, Severus showed them the small orchard and pointed out several little tool sheds that dotted the back of the lawns.

 

Soon, the twilight that had been lingering gave way to darkness.  They made their way back to the house, Atticus walking between them and chattering unintelligibly.  When they were nearly back, he took Hermione's hand and then patted Severus' pocket until he drew his hand out.  Atticus took his hand and continued skipping on. As if he hadn't become a physical link between them. As if he hadn't pulled Severus' heart right of his chest and into the cool night air.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione spent most of the next day working out in the gardens.  She warded the doors to the sheds, and put a strong barrier between the poisonous plants and the rest of the garden.  As Atticus ran around enjoying the brief bout of sunshine, she pulled weeds, watered, trimmed, and tidied. She had spent the evening after Atty went to bed looking at various gardening spells.  There was, of course, the option to enchant a muggle lawn mower to cut the grass. She knew it was the option Arthur Weasley would have gone for without a doubt, but there was always the risk of something going haywire, and the thought of Atty around a machine with blades that big made her cringe.  There were two other cutting spells, but they only covered small areas, and with how large the lawns were at the estate, they would take far too much time. One book had gone so far as to suggest goats, but Hermione didn't think Severus would fancy having goats in his back yard.

 

If their situation did indeed become a permanent one, she thought she might ask Severus to purchase a large, riding lawn mower and she could work through it the muggle way in no time at all.  Until then, though, she wasn't going to ask him to spend so much money on something she highly doubted he would ever use himself. Instead, she carefully measured the length she wanted the grass to be, cast a very simple slicing spell, and then set it to duplicate itself until stopped.  It was a little crude, and she would have to make sure that Atty didn't get near it, but it worked very well.

 

At lunch, she was sweaty and in no mood to stand over a hot stove, so she prepared cold cut sandwiches and fresh fruit for the three of them. Severus had come to the kitchen without her having to go in search for him, and asked her politely how things were coming along.  They chatted through the meal about the benefits of various de-gnomer brands, had a friendly argument about whether the feverfew needed more water, and she told him about her plans to clean out the tool sheds while Atticus napped.

 

At the word 'nap,' the little boy began kicking his feet against the table and chanting  _ NO _ .  Hermione took several deep breaths and reminded herself that Atticus was, in fact, a well behaved and sweet little boy.  Most of the time. As she wondered what troll had possessed her baby's chubby little body, Severus drew out his wand.

 

“If I may?” 

 

Hermione didn't like the idea of  _ anyone _ casting spells at her son, but she did trust Severus.  Curious as to what he would do, she nodded. He flicked his wand and suddenly Atticus hiccuped loudly.  He pulled his leg back to kick the table, and hiccuped again. He opened his mouth to yell NO and hiccuped a third time.  He could still move and speak every other word just like normal, but when he tried to kick the table or yell 'no', he hiccuped.  Hermione smothered a giggle at her son's confusion. When he realized what was happening, he did it a few more times just because he could, and then subsided.  With a half-hearted pout, he went back to eating his sandwich.

 

“Clever,” Hermione said, impressed with his methods.  “For someone who's never had children, you certainly know how to handle them.”  The words had barely left her lips before she realized that she didn't know that he  _ didn't _ have children.  “I mean, I assume you don't.  Not that I would know.” She closed her mouth before she could stick her foot in it any further.

 

“No, children were never in the cards for me.  Considering my upbringing and disposition, I don't often lament the fact.”

 

“I can understand that during the war it would have been extremely dangerous, but I don't see anything about your disposition that would warn against having them now.”

 

Severus paused a moment, realizing that he'd slipped into old doubts that he no longer truly believed.  “Perhaps. But as no witches have come forward declaring themselves eager to bear my progeny, I doubt the matter will ever be tested.”  Hermione laughed at his cavalier attitude.

 

“I thought that's what dates were for.”  She smirked. “Well, among other things.”  Severus nearly choked on the last bite of his sandwich.  He raised both brows at her audacity, and returned her smile.

 

“The last time I was on a 'date,' it was still in fashion to bring flowers to the door and promise to have her home by ten.  'Other things' were, alas, not on the menu. Somehow I doubt I would do well in this romantic age of hookups and one offs.” He rose and dropped his plate in the sink. As he headed out of the kitchen, he added over his shoulder, “if you happen to know of old fashioned witch who doesn't mind her beau resembling a bird of prey, however, then by all means send her owl my way.”

 

Hermione chuckled at his sarcasm, but couldn't help wondering if he would actually have any trouble dating at all.  Considering he had likely taught more than three quarters of the single witches on the continent, his reputation would probably be an issue, but his old fashioned ideals surely wouldn't.  Yes, there were many empowered, modern witches that had no inclinations towards domestic bliss (which was very well and good for them) but there had to be plenty that wanted a traditional wooing and courtship.  Maybe not many who wanted to be wooed by their former professor. And perhaps less that would look past his somewhat unique features and see how handsome he could be when he smiled, how charming he looked when he was unguarded.

 

Atty's eye lids began to droop, and Hermione pushed thoughts of Severus' dating life from her mind as she took her son up for his nap.  After all, she didn't have the time or mental acumen for her own love life, let alone her employer's. A sudden thought struck her, making her pause mid step on the stairs to the attic.  Surely Severus wasn't- She thought over their conversation, over what he'd said and what he  _ hadn't _ said.  Just because he hadn't been on a date since he was much younger, didn't mean he'd never....

 

No, she wasn't going to think about it.  It was none of her business, and she had no right to be wondering about whether the man whose house she was living in was a  _ virgin _ .  In fact, she wasn't even curious.  Not a little tiny bit. Which was why she spent the rest of the afternoon trying desperately not to think about whether or not he'd ever done the deed.

 

At dinner that night, she carefully steered their conversation away from anything that could even remotely be construed as sexual.  They discussed the work she'd gotten done in the gardens, the potions he was brewing, even the process she'd used to create her monitoring charm for Atticus.  By the time she put Atty to bed that night, the subject was totally out of her mind. Completely. Or, at least, she'd almost managed to convince herself of that.

 

She spent the rest of the week focused entirely on putting the estate to rights.  From top to bottom, inside and out, she cleaned, organized, updated, and stocked. Sometimes, Severus joined her and Atty for breakfast, but more often, for lunch and dinner.  There were times he was too engrossed in a brew or research to attend, and Hermione made sure to always leave a plate for him in  _ stasis _ .  They talked companionably when in each other's company, a fact that both of them enjoyed.  Hermione hadn't realized quite how starved she'd been for adult interaction. Severus had been aware of his lacking, but was unprepared for the extent of the impact rectifying the issue would have on him.  He felt more content than he had in years. The emptiness that had begun to consume him was fading away.

 

He had never thought he would enjoy having a child in his home.  Though his feelings on children in general had changed drastically over the last few years, it hadn't ever occurred that he could feel  _ close _ to a child.  That he would take so much pleasure in interacting with one.  That he would feel so protective and proud. And stranger still, that he was feeling these things about a child that wasn't even his own.

 

If he was lucky, Hermione would decide to stay after their three month arrangement, and at most, Atticus would come to think of him as a family friend or favorite uncle.  But not as a father figure. The thought left him curiously saddened. Why, he couldn't quite place. It wasn't as if he felt compelled to parent every youngster he came across.  Hell, he'd spent years in a place crawling with children and never once felt paternal towards any of them. So why did he wish he could be that way with Hermione's son?

 

Perhaps... it was  _ possible _ ... that some of that stemmed from his feelings about Hermione herself.  She was intelligent and funny, sarcastic and kind. And sweet Circe, she was beautiful.  He'd thought he knew what his 'type' of woman was. Wild haired, brown eyed, single mothers had never been it.  But still, he found the unaffected grace of her, the simple beauty, her casual sensuality, to be utterly alluring.  

 

Which was, in and of itself, a problem.  It wasn't as thought he ought to be lusting after her.  Not only was she obviously not looking for any kind of romantic entanglements, but she was also in his employ.  But then, both of those hurdles could probably be gotten past if he was willing to put his mind to the task. After all, the rewards would easily be worth the effort.  He did have to consider the possibility that the only reason he was reacting to her so strongly was that she was the first female he'd spent any significant amount of time with in years.  If any other woman was in her place, would he be so attracted to them, as well?

 

The thought held him back from thinking anything further, even in his mind.  It wouldn't be fair to either of them for him to begin to consider pursuing her if he couldn't be certain that it was  _ her _ that he was drawn to, and not just her convenience.

 

Not so long ago, there would have been so many other reasons not to let himself think romantically of her.  His looks, his age, the fact that he'd been her teacher... All those self doubts would have eaten away at any desire for her until he'd felt worthless for even being attracted to her.  But time, and forgiving himself for his many sins, had cleared those doubts away. He'd been a professor for so long that if he refused to even look at ex-students, he would have to wear a blindfold in any populated areas.  His age wasn't truly a factor since in wizarding terms, he hadn't even hit middle age. And his looks... well he'd never been good looking and never would be good looking. But he wasn't absolutely hideous by any means, and a lot could be overlooked in favor of his more appealing qualities.

 

Still, there was far more that he had to consider before he formed any intentions.  And he would take his time sussing out every angle. After all, he was nothing if not patient.

 

***

 

After a month in the employ of Severus Snape, Hermione was bored.  She had officially run out of creative ideas to keep herself busy around the house.  Now that everything had been gone over, it took far less time to maintain it. The estate was large enough that she still had work to do, but not nearly enough to justify a full time job.  So what was she supposed to do? There was a part of her that was afraid to mention it to Severus. It was possible that if he realized that the estate didn't require enough work to keep her busy, he might decide he didn't need a live-in care taker, after all.  And then, she would be back to where she'd started. It wasn't a pleasant prospect. In spite of that, she didn't think she could simply fudge her time and pretend that she was utilizing all the day working. It felt deceptive to take his money and assistance for work she wasn't doing.  She might not always have been honest to a fault with him in school, but she did have a sense of honor that she wouldn't compromise.

 

That evening, after she put Atticus to bed, Hermione cast her monitoring charm and went in search of Severus.  She was unsurprised to find him in the library, reading. At her soft rap on the open door, he let the book he'd been holding drop forward against his chest.

 

“Hermione,” he greeted, gesturing her inside.  It was amazing to her just how natural her name had come to sound on his lips.  It had taken her perhaps a little longer to get used to calling him by his given name, but now even that had become easy.

 

“I was wondering if I might have a minute to speak with you?”

 

Severus raised one brow.  “That sounds serious. Is everything alright?”  He closed the book and laid it on the table next to him beside a tumbler of glittering amber liquid.

 

“Yes, everything is fine- well, sort of.”  She perched on the chair near his and made a conscious effort not to twist her hands nervously.  “It's just, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but-”

 

“Hermione.”  He said her name slowly, almost sensuously, this time.  “It's not like you to be so nervous. Have I done anything to make you so ill at ease?”  He searched her eyes, barely restraining the urge to rest his hand on her knee. But he couldn't be sure she would welcome the touch, and worse, he wasn't certain he trusted himself to stop at such innocent contact.

 

“No, of course not.”  Hermione took a deep breath and reminded herself that he was right.  He'd been nothing but gracious to her. Yes, her livelihood and her ability to provide for her son depended on this job, but he'd never done anything to even hint that he would leave her in the lurch.  “It's just that I'm finding it takes less and less time to keep up the house and gardens. It took quite a while to get them put to rights, but now that it's all done, it doesn't take me anywhere near all day to maintain things.  I've been coming up with various projects to keep myself busy, but even still, I'm starting to have down time that I don't have any work to fill with.”

 

Severus looked confused.  “That's a good thing, isn't it?”

 

“Well, sort of.  I'm glad that things are in order, but you're paying me for full time work, more than that, really, and I'm not doing that much work any more.”

 

“I am paying you to maintain the estate.  Part of the reason the salary was set at what it is, was because that meant unusual hours.  It meant being on hand for when issues would arise. It doesn't matter to me at all how many hours your work actually takes, provided you aren't working yourself too hard.  As long as the estate is running smoothly, what you do with the rest of your time is entirely up to you.”

 

“It just feels... like I'm taking advantage of your generosity.  I don't think I'm truly earning what you're paying me.”

 

“While I appreciate your honesty, I hope you will allow me to put your concerns to rest.  I am extremely happy with the work you've done on the house and gardens thus far. Things are running more smoothly than they ever have, and it is making my life far easier not to have to worry about them.  Keep in mind that you aren't just being paid for individual hours you work, but for the convenience of having you on hand to resolve problems immediately, as well as the  _ in _ convenience to you of being so far from civilization.  The fact that you accomplish everything required of you, while watching your son, in so little time, is a testament to your efficiency and hard work.  It doesn't make me feel as if your salary is unearned in the slightest.”

 

Hermione sat silently for several minutes, thinking about what he said.  It was better than she'd been hoping for, but still she felt unsettled. At the least, she thought he would give her additional tasks to fill her time.  Prep work in the lab, perhaps? The idea of doing  _ nothing _ more to earn her pay was a little disquieting.  Still, he had no reason to give her charity. He'd offered the salary before he knew she would answer his advert, and if he said he was happy with the work she was doing, then she should believe him.  “Alright,” she agreed tentatively. “So long as you know I have plenty of time available if you happen to come up with any extra work you'd like me to be doing.”

 

“Of course,” he acknowledged, not bothering to say that she was already doing above and beyond what he expected and he wouldn't ever have any extra tasks for her.

 

“Okay, then.  I'll let you get back to your book.  Sorry to have interrupted you.” She started to rise, and this time, Severus didn't manage to restrain the hand that ventured out to touch her.  His fingers alighted on her arm and she paused.

 

“You are welcome to stay, if you'd like.  I seem to recall you having a particular love of libraries in your youth.  This one certainly doesn't measure up to the library at Hogwarts, but between Albus' books and my own, there is plenty of selection.”

 

“There is a  _ fantastic _ selection,” Hermione blurted, looking around excitedly.  She'd been in the library often enough to dust and organize, and always the rows of books had called to her.  “If I'm not intruding?”

 

“Not at all.  I wouldn't have offered-”

 

“If you didn't mean it,” Hermione finished for him with a smile.  “I'm coming to truly believe that.”

 

“As well you should.  In point of fact, I think the company would be a refreshing change.  Most of my evenings are spent in solitary pursuits, and while I am not averse to being alone, companionship does have its appeal.  Even during a relatively silent activity.”

 

“In that case, I accept your offer gladly.”  She strolled around the room trying to decide what book to choose.  There were several that had caught her eye while she'd been cleaning.  But which to read first?

 

“Would you care for a glass of firewhiskey?  Or would wine better suit your palate?”

 

Hermione looked over at the grandfather clock by the door to check the time.  She didn't often drink because she was always afraid Atticus would need something and she worried about tending to him while even slightly inebriated.  But Atticus was deeply asleep and would stay asleep for another eight hours at least. “Maybe just a dram of firewhiskey.” She could hear him pouring her a glass while she selected a book and returned to the chairs by the fire.  He handed her the tumbler once she sat, then took a drink from his own.

 

“You are welcome to use the laboratory as well as the library to fill your time,” he offered.  “Of course, we would need to take care not to cross contaminate any brews, but otherwise, _mea_ _tua_ _sunt.”_

 

“Wow, that's very... generous.”  She stopped herself from asking if he really meant the offer.  “I'm surprised, considering how you were about the labs at school.”

 

He raised one shoulder nonchalantly.  “Being demanding about how space is managed when a group of children are handling potentially explosive ingredients is only prudent.  You are a responsible, intelligent adult. I trust you not to blow us to hades. Besides, apart from your penchant for whispering instructions to Longbottom when the boy was supposed to be doing his own work, you never gave me reason to doubt your abilities in my craft.”

 

Hermione sputtered on her drink.  “First of all, you just said that children handling dangerous ingredients was a problem.  It would have been much worse with Neville without him getting a little extra help. And second, you could have fooled me.  I thought you had all the confidence of a niffler in water in my brewing skill.” She half expected him to sneer at her and make some back-handed comment, and she had no doubt that the old Professor Snape would have.  But Severus only chuckled.

 

“And you thought me inept enough to not prevent the boy from causing irreparable damage?  Now I think it is  _ my _ skill in question.  Besides, I don't recall ever telling you that your potions were unsatisfactory.  That in itself was high praise considering the circumstances.”

 

“I didn't doubt your ability to keep him from messing up, but he was so terrified of you that I thought it was better for everyone involved if he got some help from someone who didn't intimidate him so much.”  Hermione tilted her nose up at him in mock indignation, enjoying their banter immensely.

 

“Oh, really?”  Severus took another drink of his whiskey and cocked his head at her slightly.  “You didn't think that when it mattered, when lives were on the line, that he could find his own courage and follow through?  Because if I recall correctly, the last time that happened, he slaughtered Voldermort's snake... I'd say he managed perfectly well on his own.”  He tossed back the rest of his drink and smirked at Hermione as she gaped at him.

 

“Well... well... yes.  Fine.” She hid her grin behind a huff of annoyance.  “Technically, you're right.”

 

“Ah, ah,” Severus chided.  “No sore losers. But just to prove that I'm such a good sport, if you can admit that you should have let the boy find answers, and his courage, by himself, I'll admit that it was partly you and your friends' encouragement that brought him out of his shell.”

 

“Alright, that's fair.”  Hermione laughed and took another sip of her drink.  Severus inclined his head in acceptance and then plucked his book from the side table.  She had almost forgotten that they were there to read. Despite how excited she was to get started on her book, she realized that she was just as happy to converse with Severus.  She'd enjoyed their banter immensely and hoped they could repeat the verbal sparring soon.

 

Smiling, she turned to her own book and let herself become engrossed in the pages until her eyes grew heavy and she excused herself to go up to bed.  Severus wished her a good night and turned his eyes back to his book, denying himself the pleasure of watching her backside as she walked away.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Half way through their three month trial period, Severus decided it was time to start seeing other women.  The truth was that he had no interest whatsoever in any other witch, but he still couldn't be sure that what he was beginning to feel for Hermione wasn't simply because of her proximity and convenience.

 

He hadn't been joking when he'd told her that women weren't lining up to carry his progeny, however, so he had little idea how to go about finding witches to date.  Idly, he wondered if he really needed to go on actual  _ dates _ with them to prove his point, or if socializing with them was enough.  Then again, the idea of  _ socializing _ was just as daunting for him.  He had withdrawn from society as a whole for several reasons, one of which was that he simply was not a social creature.  He was uncomfortable in public places, despised crowds, and loathed small talk. Maybe it was better to secure a single witch and take her somewhere secluded.

 

Now that made it sound as if he wanted to dispose of the woman.

 

Sighing, he resigned himself to flooing Minerva and asking for her help in the matter.  She would certainly jump at the chance to play matchmaker for him.

 

And if the cat ate the canary smile that spread across her face the next day was any indication, she was indeed eager to set him up.  She gave him the name of a 'lovely little witch' who would be 'delighted to have the opportunity' to be set up on a date with him. He almost regretted asking for her help already.  Still, he had a point to prove to himself, and he wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

 

Two days later, he informed Hermione that he would be out for dinner and that she should help herself to the firewhiskey in the library that evening if he wasn't back yet.  She'd refrained from asking him questions about his rendezvous, for which he'd been grateful, and had seemed almost disappointed that he might miss their evening together in the library, for which he was even more grateful.

 

In the end, he'd swept into the library not five minutes after Hermione settled herself down with a book.

 

“Rough evening?” she asked as he poured himself three fingers of whiskey and downed the liquid in one long pull.  Severus growled at her in answer. “That bad, then?” He nodded, poured himself another, much smaller, helping of Ogden's, and then collapsed into his chair.

 

“What is it about people that makes them so... oblivious?”  He rubbed his temples and sat back with a sigh.

 

“Well not everyone can have your keen powers of observation,” she quipped.  “What was this person so oblivious to?”

 

“The obvious discomfort and unhappiness of her dining companion!  Nothing, subtle or overt, would dissuade her from a constant stream of invasive questions about my sordid history.  The witch was undeterred by everything short of me storming out. I don't know if I was shocked or not that she had the audacity to ask for a second date.  As if anything could persuade me to willingly submit to that torture a second time!” He shuddered.

 

“Date?”  Hermione felt her throat close around the word and wondered why she was so surprised.  He was young, healthy, and intelligent. Why shouldn't he date? He'd already admitted that it had been far too long since he'd courted a woman.  She should be happy that he was giving romance a second chance. So why was she decidedly  _ un _ happy about it?

 

“I was attempting to prove a point, and if this was any indication of future ventures, then I had no reason to doubt at all.  The whole mess is unsavory to say the least. I am tempted to tell Minerva that she can hang up her matchmaking hat forever, instead of seeking a second interlude from her vast array of potential ladies.”

 

“What point?”

 

Severus waved a hand negligently.  “It doesn't matter. I get the feeling that my first conclusion was correct, and that I'll be wasting my time continuing this experiment, but I've resigned myself to exploring it fully before coming to any decisions.  The prospect is  _ not _ a pleasant one.”

 

“Oh!”  Hermione suddenly felt like a bint.  The pieces clicked together and she realized that the 'point' and his 'experiment' likely had to do with his lack of sexual experience.  How petty was she that she was focused more on her own silly feelings instead of his needs? It wasn't as if she had any claim on the man, after all.  She would be terribly selfish to be disapproving of his endeavors just because of a personal reaction she didn't even understand.

 

“Oh?”  Severus looked at her expectantly.

 

“Well-” she blushed and turned the book in her hands over a few times to cover her sudden discomfort.  “I just mean that I'm happy you're putting yourself out there. Just because this one didn't go well doesn't mean that none of them will.  There are plenty of mermaids in the lake, and all that.”

 

“A beached mermaid would certainly explain why this woman's voice was so grating,” he agreed with a laugh.  Hermione blushed again.

 

“I'm sure it wasn't  _ that _ bad.”

 

“She asked me if I cried myself to sleep over Lily's death.”

 

Hermione gasped.  “She didn't!”

 

“Indeed, she did.”

 

“What a twat!”

 

Severus choked on the sip he'd taken of his drink and had to cough several times before he could breathe properly again.  Had Hermione Granger just called his date a  _ twat _ ?  His coughs became laughter that grew until he was shaking with it, head thrown back as the deep bales of laughter rumbled from his chest.  “You are an utter delight,” he told Hermione when he could finally stave off the mirth. “And yes, she was a twat.”

 

Hermione laughed as well, realizing she was absolutely smitten with the sound of Severus' laugh.  It was rich and sensual, carefree and infectious. He needed to laugh like that more often. “I mean it,” she said more seriously.  “That's not just oblivious. It's borderline cruel.”

 

“It was obvious she had no malicious intent,” Severus dismissed casually.  “If she had, I would not have sat through the rest of our meal, propriety be damned.  But why she thought my feelings about the death of a friend half a lifetime ago was appropriate first date conversation, is beyond me.”

 

“Still, it can't imagine that it was pleasant to have such a delicate subject brought up so rudely.”

 

“It isn't something that causes me pain, but I certainly do not appreciate being drilled about it by a complete stranger.”

 

“I don't doubt it,” she murmured, not entirely believing him that it no longer hurt.  She tried to imagine how hard it must have been on him, how much he must have cared for her to embark on such a perilous life path.

 

“Truly, Hermione, it's alright.  I'm not still pining over Lily Evans.  She was a dear friend for a brief moment in my life.  I bitterly regret her death and the part I played in it, but the past is done, and no amount of guilt could change it.  I made my peace with my actions and their consequences. But that doesn't mean that I have any desire to discuss the matter with some starry eyed spinster.”

 

He drained his glass once more and grabbed his book off the side table.  Hermione only watched him for several long moments. He hadn't wanted to discuss it with his date, and rightly so, but apparently he had no problem discussing it with  _ her _ .  Did that mean that he simply didn't see her as important enough to mind?  Or that he was comfortable with her? She wasn't sure, and didn't like the uncertainty.

 

“Be careful tossing the term spinster around,” she finally said, making an attempt at humor despite her considerably more reserved mood.  “I might take exception to it, considering I'm well on my way.”

 

Severus snorted.  “Hardly. Considering you have yet to reach your thirtieth birthday, I think your dating life is safe for quite a while.”

 

“Age isn't necessarily the biggest factor considering I'm also divorced and a mother.  If the dates I went on last year were any indication, then I have no doubt my induction papers will be delivered any day now.”

 

“I would say that was more of a reflection of the men you were being courted by rather than upon yourself.  Plenty of marriages end, and while single mothers are perhaps less common in the wizarding world than in the muggle one, it's still far from unheard of.  Certainly not enough to hinder potential romance.”

 

“Could have fooled me,” she scoffed lightly.  “And anyway, how did this discussion turn to my dating life or lack thereof?  We were talking about yours.”

 

Sensing it was all the more Hermione cared to say on the subject, Severus was willing to let it drop.  It was obvious that she was dealing with severe self esteem issues, many of which seemed to stem from being divorced with a child.  As much as part of him wanted to shake her from her doubt, he was too familiar with it to judge her for it. How many years had he thought himself worthless except in his capacity as a spy and pawn?  Besides, he was actually quite pleased that she had opened up to him as much as she had. In the months they had been living together, she had said very little about her husband and their divorce. He knew, despite the nearly three years since she'd left, that the wound was still raw.  

 

There was still a huge part of him that itched to know the full story.  It dangled tantalizingly before him with satisfaction always just out of reach.  She was a puzzle that was missing the last few pieces, but without them, the picture was obscure and incomplete.  Still, he'd decided not to push her. He could have easily invaded her privacy and gotten his answers. One or two owls were all it would have taken.  But now that he knew her again, now that she shared his home, it felt like a betrayal of trust. Instead, he would wait. Because he had no doubt that in time, she would share her secrets with him.  The reveal would be all the more satisfying for the anticipation of it.

 

“Well I'm sure I will be absent for another dinner next week if Minerva has anything to say about it.  I would warn you like I did tonight that I might not be back by evening, but if this first one is a herald of what's to come – and I believe it is – then I will likely be back before dessert.”    

 

“Now, now, you can't go in prepared to fail.  Try and have at least a little higher expectation than that.”

 

“Ah, but if I have the lowest of expectations, then I can only be pleasantly surprised.”

 

“There is that... but it's not a very optimistic motto.”

 

“I think life has left me a realist, instead of an optimist.”

 

“I can't fault you there,” she admitted.  As much as she wanted to claim to still be that dewy eyed optimist that had rushed off to Paris in a whirlwind romance, she knew she was no longer that girl.  Her life had been tempered by hardship as well. So who was she to disparage his less than chipper outlook when her own views were very nearly the same?

 

This time, Severus rose and headed for bed first, claiming fatigue from his terrible date.  In reality, the glasses of firewhiskey he'd shared with her, in addition to the several glasses of wine it had taken to get through his dinner, were lowering his inhibitions dangerously.  It was so tempting to tell her  _ why _ he was putting himself through these sham dates.  To show his hand far sooner than planned and let the chips fall where they may.  Or to simply pull her over to him and taste her lips.

 

It was the last impulse, more than any, that had him heading for the door.  It would be one thing to express his interest to her earlier than he intended.  It would be an entirely different matter to act, physically, on those interests.  Especially without first gauging  _ her _ feelings on the matter.  He wasn't in the habit of physically accosting women, and he had no plans to start.  The fact that her last real relationship had left her so fragile was all the more reason to tread lightly.  It had been foolish to imbibe so much in such close proximity to her, knowing that his resolve to wait was rickety at best.  But he could control himself. He  _ would _ control himself.  Even if it meant removing himself from the temptation until he was in better command of his impulses.

 

Still, he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder at her as he walked out.  Was it his imagination, or had her eyes been on his arse as he walked away? If the blush that crept up her cheeks was any indication, she had, indeed, been caught in the act.  He smirked, satisfied that the idea was at least lurking somewhere in her mind, and made his way up to bed.

 

***

 

The next several dates were just as terrible as Severus expected they would be.  Date number two had chatted incessantly about her thirteen kneazles. Date number three had just left a serious relationship and was obviously keen to rekindle romance with her ex beau.  Date number four broke into tears no less than a dozen times through dinner, for reasons ranging from the lack of her favorite wine on the menu to the texture of the cloth napkins on the table.  Date number five had been with a former student who sat, petrified, in her chair until the check came. Date number six had brought a Quick-Quotes Quill along and Severus had left without even bothering to ask her name.  By then, he'd had enough.

 

Surprisingly, the dates did nothing to hinder his newfound closeness with Hermione.  Perhaps, because they were all so awful, or maybe because neither of them truly expected the dates to go anywhere, but they bonded over the stories Severus brought home.  They spent their evenings, after Atticus went to bed, lounging comfortably in the library and bemoaning his latest romantic misadventure. Hermione even shared stories of her own failed attempts at dating.  They laughed, commiserated, teased, and speculated.

 

What could have easily become a point of contention between them, or a cause for self doubt, became a means of drawing them closer.  And with every passing day, Severus became more and more certain that Hermione was the woman he wanted in his life. It wasn't because she was convenient, or because he was so starved for female affection.  None of the women he'd been out with had made him smile the way Hermione did, intrigued him the way she did, amused him the way she did, or incited his lust the way she did. No, it was clear that Hermione, herself, was what he wanted.

 

Still, there were things that needed to be addressed before he was willing to go further than that admission.  They had shared more with each other than with anyone else, but there was still much of her history that he didn't know.  She trusted him, but not enough yet to admit what had happened in her marriage. How could he attempt to begin a relationship with her if she wasn't willing to open up to him about such a large portion of her life?  He wanted her to  _ want _ to tell him.  To confide in him willingly.  So many times, he could have sworn that it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him.  But then she would stop and pull back, navigating their conversation into more neutral territory.

 

When the three months came to an end, both of them were willing and eager to maintain their situation.  Despite what Severus had insisted upon at first, they decided mutually that no contract was necessary. They trusted each other, him not to fire her without cause or slash her salary, and her not to leave without notice.  Her clause of being able to leave at once if Severus ever did anything to make her question Atty's comfort and happiness was long forgotten. It was desperately obvious that the little boy loved Severus, and that the reverse was true as well.

 

What was more, despite Severus' active participation in Atty's life, he never did anything beyond Hermione's comfort zone or without seeking her approval first.  When they Apparated to town for groceries, he waited until she indicated that she was ready before he and Atticus went. If Atticus was misbehaving or needed direction, he made sure Hermione was alright with it before he corrected the boy.  It was all so subtle, questions with raised brows or simple, “if I may?” and replies that were no more than an inclination of the head or a, “by all means.” And yet, those small gestures meant the world to Hermione. Her son was everything to her.  If Severus had begun trying to parent him, undermining Hermione's authority and threatening her bond with her son, she could have easily hated him for it. Instead, he strengthened that bond, reinforcing it every time he looked to Hermione for acquiescence.   And more, he earned Hermione's trust by never overstepping his bounds or disregarding her wishes.

 

Hermione and Atticus kept their beds in the attic still, but other living spaces became less defined.  Atty's toys became fixtures in the living room, Hermione's books migrated into the library. Their shoes and coats all jumbled together in the foyer closet.  Even though Hermione at worried at first about blurring the lines of their homes and how Severus would feel about his housekeeper and her son leaving their things about, those fears proved totally unfounded.  Severus himself was the one to suggest several of the changes. What was the point of her cloak being all the way up in the attic, when they always left by the front door? Why not have some of Atticus' toys on the main floor since he spent so much time down there playing?   It was a relief not to worry about Severus suddenly tiring of them being constantly underfoot.

 

Hermione had begun to wonder if their closeness might indicate that something...more... was possible between them.  She knew that she was attracted to Severus. There hadn't been any denying that. And there was no doubt at all that she liked the man.  Respected him. But as they got to know each other more, as they stretched the bounds of their new situation, she realized that it wouldn't be all that strange a jump for them to move from employer and employee to partners and lovers.  The idea was terrifying and titillating. How would it feel to be loved by a man like Severus Snape? Emotionally and physically?

 

Still, her doubts dogged her steps.  No matter how much she pushed them down and wore a brave face, they were there, eating at her confidence.  What would he possibly see in her? Surely what she thought was growing affection and attraction was simply passing interest on his part.  Even if he one day said he cared for her, it wouldn't be long till his attention wandered. Till be began breaking his promises. And perhaps worse, was that if that happened, it would be  _ her _ fault.  Severus was a man of his word, so when, inevitably, he failed her, it would be more a reflection of her than of him.  She would demand too much, expect too much, give too little, not be understanding enough. And then it would all fall apart.  She would be left to pick up the pieces and move on.

 

It had taken everything inside her to survive Phillipe.  She didn't think she could survive Severus.

 

And yet, the possibility of more, of  _ everything _ , dangled before her so tantalizingly.

 

***

 

Four months after she'd moved in, the three of them bundled up and Apparated into the village for groceries.  The snow that had fallen the night before left the countryside blanketed in glittering white. The village itself, however, had become a maze of muddy trails.  Severus carried Atticus on his shoulders while Hermione subtly shrunk their various bags and packages. The little boy wrapped his hands under Severus' chin and kicked his tiny feet against Severus' chest to urge him faster.  Severus growled that the child was a miscreant, and then obligingly broke into a trot. They had pulled several paces ahead of Hermione when she saw him.

 

It was just a flash among a sea of faces.  After the initial panic, after her heart had begun to pound and the blood rushed in her ears, she told herself that it must have been a mistake.  That she couldn't have seen what she thought she'd seen. After all, there were thousands of miles between them. It had been more than three years since she'd seen him last.  The idea of him being in Presteinge was ludicrous, unless he was specifically looking for her. Which was even crazier. What possible reason could he have to search her out after all this time?

 

But hadn't she always feared he would?  Wasn't that the reason she never shared more than necessary with others?  The reason she kept to herself? Why she'd taken such care to cover her tracks?  Because she'd always known, deep down, that he would not just let her go and move on.  That some day, he would come looking for her. Her hands began to shake and she pulled her hood up over her face.  As fear clawed up her throat and threatened to make her scream, her eyes darted ahead to Severus and her son. They'd been far enough ahead of her that it was possible he hadn't made the connection.  Atticus looked nothing like him. Hermione's features were the only ones on the little boy's face. And she'd given him no reason to suspect.

 

Severus swung Atticus down from his shoulders and cradled the boy against him.  Atticus patted the prominent, hooked nose lovingly and then leaned his head against Severus' chest.  A strange kind of calm stole over Hermione. She was nowhere near the same woman she'd been when she fled Paris.  She knew what she was protecting, what she was fighting for. And she no longer felt totally alone in the world.

 

If she let them, her doubts and fears would consume her.  But for Atticus, she would be strong. For her son, she could face anything.  Even telling Severus the truth about her past and dealing with whatever consequences that brought about.

 

“Hermione?”  Severus stopped, one arm cradling Atticus against him, the other held out to her.  She forced a smile to her face and slipped her arm through his. Whatever came would come, and she would  try and finally put her past behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note of warning for the chapter ahead: it contains descriptions of Hermione's past that are Not Pleasant. Tread lightly <3

By the time they Apparated back to the estate, Hermione wasn't surprised to see the tawny owl waiting on the window sill.  She hadn't imagined it. His face hadn't walked from her nightmares and into her subconscious, he'd come from Paris to invade her little town in the flesh.  Phillipe had finally found her.

 

_ You and I have a lot to discuss, _ his letter said.  There were instructions on where to meet him, and a veiled threat of what would happen if she didn't show up.  Her hands shook as she folded the missive up and stuffed it into her pocket. They had taken most of the day to finish their shopping, and now she didn't have much time.  Quickly, she put all the groceries away and put together a meal for Atticus and Severus. When he saw that there were only two plates, Severus raised a questioning brow.

 

“I... have a favor to ask you,” she finally admitted.  Severus waited. He'd seen the change in her demeanor earlier in the day and had been trying to stay patient until she admitted the reason for it.  “I have some business... personal business, that I have to take care of. Urgently. Would you mind- I mean, could you possibly-”

 

“I can watch Atticus, if that's what you're asking,” he took pity on her and filled in.  Hermione nodded gratefully.

 

“I don't think it will be long.  I know it's not fair to ask you, and that you deserve more of an explanation-”

 

“Hermione, truly, it's fine.

 

She looked close to tears, and Severus could see her hands trembling.  She pressed her fingers to her lips and then laid them on his shoulder gently.  His stomach clenched. “Thank you,” she whispered.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.  Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.  Hermione was always so calm, so collected.  Seeing her like this had him tied up in knots.  But he could only help her if she let him. Silently, he urged her, his eyes boring into hers, to  _ let him in _ .  She took a shaky breath, opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head.

 

“I'll be fine.  I'll be back as soon as I can.”

 

She pulled her cloak back over her shoulders and took one last, long look at Atticus and Severus before Apparating away.  Severus blinked, hoping childishly that if he did so enough times, she would reappear on the next blink. Of course, she didn't.  Sighing, he turned his attention to Atticus.

 

After they finished dinner, they played in the living room until nearly bed time.  Since Hermione still hadn't returned, Severus took the boy up to their rooms and read him a bedtime story.  Thankfully, Atticus fell asleep while he read. Severus couldn't have imagined trying to explain to the boy why his mother wasn't back to put him to bed.  He cast the monitoring charm Hermione used, then returned down stairs and sat in the library to wait.

 

It had been tempting to pour himself a lion's share of firewhiskey and try to smother his mounting concern for Hermione with alcohol.  But he had the feeling that he would want to be in full possession of his faculties when she returned. Instead of pushing the fear away as he had been while Atticus was awake, Severus finally let himself be engulfed by it.  He allowed it to wash over him, to sail along his nerve endings and coil tight in his stomach. Then he took a breath and started to rationally dissect it. 

 

He assumed, with how strongly she'd reacted, that this had something to do with her ex husband.  Had he sent her a letter demanding visitation of his son? Was there some sort of blackmail he was holding over her head?  Or was she just truly terrified of the man?

 

The latter was hard to accept.  Hermione was a brilliant woman and a powerful witch.  The idea that she would let a man bully her was unthinkable.  This was the same woman who had faced Voldemort with hardly more than a tremor.  Still, Severus knew that power did not necessarily give confidence. His own mother was proof of that.  She could have hexed his father's bollocks off in a second flat, but instead, she had let Tobias Snape cow her into submission.  She'd gone so far as to let him abuse her, as well as her son.

 

The idea of Hermione's husband harming Atticus both filled him with terrible, black rage, and struck him as ridiculous.  Hermione was more protective of her child than a Hungarian Horntail of its egg. He had no doubts whatsoever that if the man had tried to hurt her son, she would have  _ destroyed _ him.  So was that what had happened?  He'd threatened to harm Atticus, or done something to make her think he would, so she'd left?  But then, the timeline didn't match up. He tracked backwards, covering her time in his home, her time working on the research paper, and the time she'd spent making the move between countries and looking for a job.  She had to have left France very early on in her pregnancy. For all that Severus knew, her husband had never even seen the boy.

 

That seemed most likely to him, then.  For whatever reason, after nearly three years, the man wanted to see his son.  Part of Severus understood that desire. It was natural to want to have some part in your offspring's life.  Perhaps he'd been apathetic about Hermione's pregnancy and now had seen the error of his ways? But that didn't explain Hermione's fear.  It had been sharp, nearly tangible. She wouldn't have been so afraid just because her former husband wanted to meet his child. It was possible that she was afraid of being drawn into a cross continent custody battle, but Severus didn't really think that was the case, either.  Hermione rarely acted without reason. And for her to move thousands of miles away, and purposely exclude the man from Atticus' life, there had to be a damn good one.

 

As the minutes ticked on, Severus began to realize that the gnawing in his belly was panic.  Yes, Hermione was a more than capable witch. But that didn't mean she couldn't be caught unawares.  The statistics of domestic violence were much lower in the wizarding world than in the muggle one, thank Merlin, but it wasn't unheard of for a witch to be seriously harmed by an angry husband.  Surely she would send her patronus to him if there was any real trouble. Unless she  _ couldn't _ for some reason.  He was drawing out his wand to send his own patronus to her when the front door thudded closed and he heard Hermione's footsteps in the hall.

 

He let out his breath in a rush, relieved beyond measure to have her home.  And determined to get answers from her. He couldn't help unless he knew what was going on.  That determination took a back seat as soon as she walked through the library door and he saw her face.

 

She looked exhausted, defeated, and frightened.  She looked small and fragile. There were tear tracks down her cheeks.  Severus didn't want to demand explanations. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight.  He wanted to promise her that everything would be alright, and whatever happened, they would face it together.  That he would protect her.

 

Hermione went right to the mantle where the bottle of Ogden's and the glasses were.  She poured herself a large portion, saw that he didn't have a glass, and poured a second one for him.  When she handed him the tumbler, the liquid sloshed from her trembling. He cupped both of his hands over her own and the glass for a moment before accepting the drink and letting her pull away.  As he watched, she set herself carefully in the chair opposite his, took a sip of the liquor, and began to speak.

 

“I was nineteen when I met Phillipe.  I thought he was older, more mature, at twenty five.  We had some similarities, such as disinterest in quidditch, but mostly I was drawn to him for his romanticism.  I had spent so much time being needed to help Harry, being needed for the Order, being needed to fight Voldemort, that it was so easy to be swept off my feet by a man who just wanted me for me.  It is mortifying, looking back, at how easily I was seduced. Not just physically, but emotionally. I let myself become so caught up in him that nothing else mattered. It was only a matter of months before we were married and I was starting a new life in Paris.

 

“I did keep some of my ideals.  I wanted to go to university. It had always been my plan to work in the ministry, to try and make a difference for those who couldn't stand up for themselves.  Phillipe encouraged me, at first. He told me to take as many or as few classes as I wanted, and that he would support us while I continued my education. He put his social life on hold to be there for me, to help me study or to encourage me before tests.  It wasn't until much, much later that I realized those sweet gestures had left me isolated and penniless. I was wholly dependent on him.

 

“The shift was so subtle that I didn't even notice it.  I was stressed about a class. He told me simply to drop it.  I could take it again sometime later. After all, I didn't want the stress of one silly class interfering with my marriage, did I?  Then it was another class, and another. I managed to graduate, but only barely. And then, even though the plan had always been for us to move back to Great Britain so I could start at the ministry, he wanted me to take some time off.  To focus on 'us.' How could I refuse? After all, I'd neglected him while in school, I had been so horrible to prioritize anything else over him, and when he'd been so good to me. So supportive of me. So I stayed home. I kept the house, I was the perfect wife.  And still, it was never enough.

 

“Why couldn't I keep the house immaculate?  Why couldn't I be more understanding of his needs?  Why couldn't I love him enough to do exactly as he asked, when he asked it?  I was selfish, callous, cruel to him when all he did was care for me. That's what he convinced me.  That I was stupid not to see how much he loved me. How much he needed me. How good our lives would be if only I listened to him more.  But no matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough. And then he started drinking more and more.

 

“Of course he blamed me.  He wouldn't have to drink if I wasn't such a terrible wife.  It was unfair of me to ask him to give up the only thing that distracted him from how big of a failure I was.  So what if he yelled at me when he was drunk? So what if he was rough?”

 

Severus' hands balled into fists, and she heard him inhale sharply.  She went on as if she hadn't noticed. She couldn't bear to stop.

 

“After all, he never  _ hit _ me.  I'd grown up in the muggle world.  Didn't I know that there were men who beat their wives?  Didn't provide for their families? Wasn't I lucky to have a husband who put up with my demands and nagging?  And I convinced myself that he was right. He never struck me. He belittled me, shoved me, screamed at me, but he never once raised his fist to me.

 

“Still, I wasn't happy.  I wanted more from life. So I wrote to the ministry behind his back.  They sent a letter back almost immediately, telling me they would be happy to have me start in the Regulation of Magical Creatures department as soon as I was able.  I hid the letter, but apparently not well enough. Phillipe found it and replied to them in my name before I had a chance to. I have no idea what, exactly, he said, but I received a second letter telling me that I needn't bother to ever apply for a position within the ministry again.  And as if that blow wasn't cruel enough, Phillipe suddenly grew much worse.

 

“I wasn't allowed to leave the house without permission.  How could he trust me, he claimed, when I'd already gone behind his back and betrayed him?  He kept track of me at all times, demanded total obedience, and began to drink even more heavily.  And then one night...” She stopped, raised the glass to her lips and took a long, fortifying breath before going on.  “I hadn't realized at first that it was missing. I hadn't been able to purchase it on my own for months anyway because I wasn't allowed to have money.  But then suddenly it was time to take it again, and there wasn't a dose of contraceptive potion in the cabinet. I'd brought it up and he'd brushed it off.  Said he would get it for me, not to nag him about it. I tried not to. After all, I knew enough about the female reproductive cycle to know that I was likely still  be in the clear for at least two weeks. But then two weeks passed and he still hadn't bought me the potion. So when he came home that night, drunk and angry, I risked his wrath to tell him no when he came to bed.”

 

She stopped again, staring into the fire burning slowly in the grate.  Of all the shame she felt for having let things get so far with Phillipe, this was the worst.  And it only exacerbated things that then she felt guilty about that shame. Because hadn't her failure to stand up for herself resulted in the best thing in her life?  She swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away.

 

“He wouldn't take no for an answer.  He knew exactly what he was doing, and so did I.  I was terrified of what would happen, but more afraid of taking any stronger steps to stop him.  So he- we-”

 

“He raped you?”  Severus' voice was deep and rough.  She nearly jumped at the sound of it, he'd been quiet for so long.  She shook her head against the ugly word. Rape was something that happened to people who were helpless.  It happened to strangers in back alleys, not to wives in their own beds.

 

“Of course not.  I was his wife. I didn't pull my wand on him even though I could have.”

 

“He was angry and drunk.  He wanted to have sex, you did not.  So he made you.”

 

“It wasn't like that!  I'm not a victim. I didn't scream for help, I didn't try to defend myself.”

 

“But you told him no.”

 

“Yes,” Hermione breathed, hating the way the admission made her feel.

 

“And you were afraid to stop him.”

 

“Yes.”  That one stung even more.  How could she have been so deeply under his thrall?

 

“And he forced you anyway.”

 

This time, her reply was barely more than a whisper.  “Yes.” She heard Severus taking several deep breaths as he tried to calm himself.  What must he think of her now? How weak she had been, how blind...

 

“He got you pregnant,” Severus concluded when he trusted himself to speak.  Hermione nodded. “Tell me what happened next.” He was almost afraid to hear it, but he had to know.

 

“It took me weeks to be certain, of course.  Even magical tests can't be accurate right away.  But then I got my first positive result and I knew that it was true.  I was pregnant. He came home that night, and he was... rough with me. More than normal.  And even though I hadn't wanted it to happen, I realized that I had more than myself to worry about, now.  The idea of him treating a child the way he treated me... it made me sick to even contemplate. And then it all came crashing down on me.  How much I'd let him manipulate me. How bad things had become. I hadn't done anything to deserve his cruelty, other than allow it to happen.  But I wouldn't allow the same thing to happen to my child.

 

“So I left.  I had no money, no friends, no place to go.  But I knew that if I waited any longer, if he had any inkling that I was pregnant, I would never get away.  So I destroyed the pregnancy test, took only what I could carry in a single bag, and filed for divorce  _ in absentee _ .  Then I fled the country.  I don't even know if it went through,” she admitted softly.  “I never looked back. For months, I bounced from place to place, staying in cheap motels with the money I'd gotten from pawning my wedding ring, camping when that money ran out.  I knew I couldn't do anything in the wizarding world until he'd stopped looking for me. I gave birth to Atticus in a muggle hospital so that he wouldn't be in the ministry register.  I left the spot for the father's name blank.

 

“And when I felt that it was safe, I went to Minerva for help finding a job that would allow me to care for Atticus.  The research paper was perfect, while it lasted. I kept to myself, desperate to keep out of the public eye. If even a hint of my return had made the papers...”  She trailed off, shuddering to think what would have happened. “But a year went by, then two. I thought he must have given up on searching for me. I let myself feel safe.  I even went on a few dates, trying to really start my life over again. And then, you know the rest. The paper was completed suddenly, and I lost my flat, and then you appeared like a gift from Merlin himself.  A secluded estate in the country, a live in position, and little contact with anyone that I didn't trust explicitly. I thought it was finally behind me. I thought, here with you...” She stopped again, not wanting to say too much when she was so emotional.

 

“What happened today?” Severus finally asked.

 

“He saw me.  In the village.  I don't know how he found me, but he did.  He couldn't trace our Apparation, but his owl found the house anyway.  He sent this.” She pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it over to him.  The library had grown dark, but the dancing light from the fire illuminated the bruises around her wrist as she waited for him to take the letter.  His hand shot out, long pale fingers circling her wrist just above the dark smudges. His grip was gentle, but unbreakable. Slowly, he turned her hand over so he could see the marks more clearly.  He didn't bother to ask if Phillipe had made them. He didn't have to. Softly, lighter than a feather's touch, he traced his fingers over the bruises and began to chant. In moments, the marks had faded away, and the ache in her wrist was gone.  “Thank you,” she whispered. Severus looked at her for long moments, his black eyes unreadable. Then he nodded his head in acknowledgment and took the letter. He read it quickly, then set it aside.

 

“So you met with him.”

 

“Yes.  I did. But I wasn't foolish enough to go unarmed, or unprepared.  I let myself be hurt by him far too many times before, when I'd been too stupid and naive to stop it.  But I'm not that girl any longer. He doesn't know about Atticus, and he has no power over me.” Despite her brave words, her voice wavered.  “I expected him to be angry. I expected him to try and get me to return to Paris with him. I refused him in no uncertain terms and defended myself when he tried to push the issue.  I told him to leave. I'm not sure he will.”

 

“He has spent nearly three years trying to find you.  I doubt he has any intention of giving up so easily now that he has.”

 

“I didn't mean to have you dragged into the middle of all this, Severus.  You've had more than enough danger and subterfuge to last a lifetime. I won't insult you by saying I don't expect you to care, but I'm not asking you to get involved.  I got myself into this mess, and I am taking responsibility for it. I'll deal with Phillipe.”

 

Severus said nothing.  The silence stretched between them until Hermione thought she would crack under the stain of it.  She couldn't bear his quiet condemnation.

 

“I was young and inexcusably stupid to let things get as far as they did.  I know that. I am so ashamed that I allowed it to happen. But you have to believe that I am not that silly, selfish girl any longer.  Atticus changed that. Changed me.”

 

“Stop!”  It sounded as if the exclamation was wrenched from Severus' throat.  His breathing had grown ragged and he clenched the arms of the chair in a white knuckle grip.  If Hermione had any doubts at all about the man's integrity, she would have been terrified that he would hurt her.  “If I hear you call yourself stupid, or selfish, or any other insult that bastard made you believe about yourself, I will hunt him down tonight and tear him limb from limb.  You have no idea how precarious the thread of control I'm clinging to is right now, Hermione. I thought the violence within me had died when Voldermort did. I was wrong.”

 

Hermione inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with her hand as if to prevent any more words from slipping out.  He'd been so still, so silent during her tale, that she'd had no idea how much it had affected him.

 

“What you wanted, after the war, to be desired simply for yourself, was not a foolish hope.  I understand it perhaps better than anyone. The fact that you fell prey to the seduction of a man older, confident in himself, and seeming to offer you everything you wanted, is not surprising.  He took his time grooming you into submission. Again, I am well aware of what it is to be sucked in so slowly that you don't realize that you are powerless until it is too late. The isolation, the forced dependency on him, the growing intensity of his demands, are textbook behaviors of an abusive partner.  Men and women far more experienced than you have been taken captive by them.

 

“The fact that you continue to blame yourself is testament to just how deeply he had you in his control.  The fact that you cannot acknowledge yourself as his victim only solidifies the power he had over you.” He pushed to his feet, slamming his empty glass down on the mantle as he fought to control his anger.  “He forced himself on you knowing that he would likely get you pregnant, and knowing that you didn't want it. That you found the courage to leave him when you realized that he had succeeded is nothing short of miraculous.  Your strength, then and now, amaze me. And yet I cannot express how  _ furious _ I am with you that you went to face him alone!

 

“I knew you were afraid when you left.  I had figured out that it had something to do with him.  But I convinced myself that you were worried about a custody battle, or simply weren't ready to face him.  I had no idea that he didn't know about Atticus and you were afraid of him finding out, and no idea that you feared for your safety from him!  I know that you are a powerful witch in your own right. But he is physically bigger and stronger than you. What if he managed to get your wand away from you?  He could have done anything he wanted, and no one would have been there to stop him. No one would even have known where to look for you.

 

“All it would have taken was one word from you, and I would have supported you unquestioningly.  You aren't blind. You know I care. Perhaps far more than I should. I respect that you wanted to handle this yourself, but you can't have thought I would rather you go into danger alone than get involved.”  He ran both hands through his hair in frustration. He was torn between wanting to hold her and wanting to shake some sense into her. How could she have put herself at such great – and  _ unnecessary _ – risk?

 

“He's just a man-” Hermione started to say softly.

 

“He's  _ not _ a man,” Severus sneered. “He's a bastard and a coward.”

 

“You're right,” she agreed.  “He is. But despite his physical advantage over me, I wasn't afraid of him that way.”

 

“He put his hands on you again.  Marked you.” Severus gripped the mantle and tried to let the flickering dance of the flames lull him into a false serenity.

 

“I don't care.”

 

“You should,” Severus hissed angrily, whirling around to face her.  Hermione shook her head.

 

“I don't care that he hurt me physically.  He had no power to cause me any real harm, because the only thing I was afraid of was the one thing I was absolutely certain wouldn't happen.  I could face him because I knew Atticus was safe here with you. What Phillipe does to me doesn't matter. I'm strong enough to handle it. The most important thing is that Atticus is protected.  You're the only man in the world that I trust to do that. To keep him from Phillipe, to keep him safe, no matter what.”

 

Severus sank to his knees in front on her with a soft groan.  “I can keep you both safe. If you trust me with your son then surely you believe that.  I can protect you, Hermione.” The last words were spoken like a plea, one of his hands reaching up to cup her cheek softly.

 

“You shouldn't have to,” she whispered back, leaning into the gentle touch and unable to stop herself.  “You are already doing more than I have any right to ask you to do by protecting Atticus. I, alone, am responsible for dealing with the consequences of my mistakes.  I am so ashamed of what my irresponsibility, my recklessness, has led to. I can't make that worse by asking someone to fix things for me now.” Severus drew his hand away and shook his head.  Did she really not see the similarities?

 

“You cannot believe that I, of all people, would hold a youthful error in judgment against you.  I can tell you what carrying around that kind of guilt does to a person, Hermione. Trying to grapple with it on your own will only make matters worse.”

 

“That's not the same at all,” she exclaimed.  Severus got to his feet and stared down at her.  

 

“Isn't it?  You let yourself be taken in by him because you wanted acceptance.  Because you wanted to be  _ wanted. _  And then by the time you realized the truth of his cruelty and violence, it was too late to just walk away.  He stripped you of all that you were and then rebuilt you, piece by piece, with a thousand little insecurities so that he could shatter you again with a single word.  And it wasn't until someone you loved, someone innocent, was at risk, that you managed to break free. Your husband was no Dark Lord, Hermione, but that doesn't make your ordeal any less real.  Or any more your fault.” He sank back into his chair and ran his hand tiredly over his face. She didn't reply, but he knew it would take time, far longer than just one evening, for her to accept his words.   He felt wrung out and trampled on. Still, it couldn't be anything compared to what she was coping with.

 

“Do you think he will track you to the estate?” he finally asked.

 

“Yes,” Hermione admitted.  “He seemed almost... unhinged.”

 

“Then for the foreseeable future, consider yourself on leave from work.  I would suggest you focus your time and energies on Atticus. I will be redoubling the wards around the house and I encourage you to add your own, as well.  I can get anything that is needed from the village, and I would appreciate it if you were willing to accept an escort should the need arise for you to go somewhere off the grounds.”  He raised a hand to stop her when she started to protest. “I know you would rather go off on your own and have me here with Atticus, but I want you to trust me when I say that I  _ can _ protect you both.  Even if you were not fully capable of defending yourself, it would be well within my power to keep you and Atticus from any harm.

 

“Do you believe that, Hermione?”  His dark eyes searched hers, willing her to extend her trust in him.  She looked him over, eyes lingering on his broad shoulders, strong arms, and agile, powerful hands.  Hands that were capable of such violence and such tenderness. Finally, she met his eyes and nodded.

 

“I do.”

 

“Good.”  He let out a long breath.  “But I think we can both agree that we shouldn't push that unless there isn't any other way to avoid it.”

 

“Absolutely,” Hermione nodded emphatically.  The fire had begun to die, and Severus felt as if his energy was extinguishing along with it.

 

“You should probably try and get some sleep. I don't imagine the coming days will be easy on you.”

 

Hermione rose and nodded.  “Likely not.” She set her glass down on the mantle beside his and then turned back to him.  “Severus....” How was she supposed to find the right words? Maybe if she was writing it out, she could be eloquent and loquacious, but out loud any words sounded clumsy on her tongue.  “I- thank you. For listening to me, for responding the way you did. For caring enough to want to help. And for not pushing me. None of this can be easy for you, and you shouldn't have to deal with it.  But your acceptance, your willingness to help, means more to me than I can say.”

 

Severus rose from his chair and walked over to her, stopping only a few inches away from her.  He could feel the heat from her body radiating against him. With the knuckle of his first finger, he gently lifted her chin up.  He searched her eyes, trying to figure out what to say. 'You're welcome' seemed insipid and trite. 'I would do anything for you' sounded mad.  Finally, he decided to say nothing at all. He leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss to her forehead. Then he turned and watched the flames sputter out while she made her way from the room.

 

He sat, he didn't know how long, staring at the coals as they glowed red and slowly faded to grey.  Her story played over and over in his mind. His chest ached as he imagined her, idealistic and eager to be in love, crushed every time her new husband belittled her.  Becoming increasingly convinced that he must be right. She really must be stupid and selfish and uncaring.

 

For the first time in many years, Severus thought back to the way he'd treated her in school and felt ashamed of his actions.  How many times had he called her a 'stupid girl,' or told her she was foolish and reckless? How many times had he undermined her confidence and demeaned her efforts?  No, Severus was not responsible for the actions of her bastard ex husband. But he'd made her no stranger to cruelty. The thought made him feel sick.

 

Even though he knew it would be far easier to push the thoughts from his mind, he couldn't help himself from imagining Hermione cringing away from Phillipe, trying to pretend that it didn't hurt when he pushed her around, trying to excuse the bruises he left on her skin because  _ at least he wasn't punching her _ .  Then, worst of all, came the thoughts of him impregnating her against her will.  He didn't want to see it, didn't want to think about it, but the scene played out in his head like an old film caught on a loop-  _ Phillipe coming home drunk and angry, confronting Hermione and advancing on her.  Hermione trying to dissuade him, knowing what would likely happen if he got his way.  Telling him no, bracing for his wrath, feeling helpless as he drug her to the bed anyway.  Struggling against him, but refusing to call out for help or raise her wand against him because she was his wife, and wasn't it her duty to submit to him?  Wasn't it wrong of her to fight him? Wasn't she selfish and cruel to deny him, too stupid to know any better? Then finally giving up, letting the despair consume her, tears falling freely from her eyes as he laboured above her- _   Severus pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and groaned, trying desperately to push the images out of his mind.  If he didn't get a grip on his whirling brain, he was going to retch on the library floor, or simply destroy everything in sight.

 

He could go out and find the man right then.  It wouldn't take long. A few tracer spells, a little dark magic, and Phillipe would be within his grasp.  But then what? Severus wasn't entirely certain he could be alone with Hermione's ex husband without being in real danger of killing him.  It was becoming insidiously easy to excuse the act already. He was less than a man, less than a  _ dog _ .  And didn't savage dogs get put down?  He could eliminate the threat to the people he cared about and then Hermione would never need to worry about Phillipe again.

 

But those were the thoughts and impulses of the Death Eater and spy that he'd been during the war, not the man he'd fought so hard to become since then.  Would Hermione really want her son around the man who'd murdered the boy's father? And what would unleashing that kind of violence do to the careful control he'd developed?  Would he slip back into the old persona that had embodied him for so long?

 

Perhaps the most deciding factor, was that Hermione wouldn't want him to.  She'd chosen to confront her ex on her own so that he wouldn't have to be caught between them.  Yes, she had needed him to stay with Atticus, to know that he would be safe, but Severus knew that she also felt guilty about the idea of him being involved at all.  She thought this was her responsibility to handle, and that she shouldn't have asked him for any help at all. If Severus acted now, Hermione would forever feel guilty for whatever he did.  Not to mention, she'd had her thoughts, her choice, stripped away from her far too often for Severus to be willing to do that to her again. No, this time she would get to decide what needed done.  He would stand by her side, protecting her if needed, supporting her, respecting her choices as long as she didn't put herself at further risk. 

 

Feeling a little more in control of himself, Severus made his way up to his room and practically collapsed into the bed.  He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. First, the thought of Hermione, belly swollen with child, sleeping in a shabby tent and jumping at every sound, terrified it was her husband hunting her down, assailed his mind.  He pushed the image away and it was replaced by the sound of her screaming as she gave birth, alone and in a crude muggle hospital. With a groan he threw his arm over his eyes and forced his mind to go blank. Blissfully, placidly blank.  He drew upon his iron will to  _ make _ himself fall asleep.

 

Unfortunately, his subconscious took full advantage of it's reign and ran rampant with dreams of Hermione back in Phillipe's clutches, subject once more to his cruel whims.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the week was filled with tension.  Several times a day, the tawny owl pecked against the window to bring a new letter.  Hermione never opened any of them. She  _ confunded _ the bird and sent it back without even removing the parchment from its leg.

 

They both felt on edge, clutching their wands at loud noises, peering out the windows through the swirling snow to look for any intruders.  Even Atticus noticed the somber mood between them and played in a more subdued fashion than usual. Hermione spent much of her time holding him and whispering her love and encouragement to him.  She felt her heart might burst at the thought of him caught in the middle of this mess. He was so small, so innocent. The idea that he could be put in Phillipe's hands made her physically ill. She'd die before she let that happen.

 

It was during those times that she was most grateful for Severus' constant presence.  He didn't go down to the lab to brew at all that week. He would sit in the library with a book he wasn't reading, prowl the house looking for drafts that weren't there, brave the snow to check the parameters of the estate and make sure there were no cracks in their wards.  He entertained Atticus while Hermione cooked, continually made sure Hermione felt safe, and all in all proved himself to be every inch the man Hermione knew him to be. The type of man any witch would fight to keep in her life.

 

When it wasn't consumed with fear for the future, Hermione's mind wandered back to their night in the library, and the touches they'd shared.  Despite the camaraderie that had cropped up between them in the last months, that evening was the most physical contact they'd ever had. She couldn't forget the way it had felt to have his fingers circling her wrist, such a contrast to the way Phillipe had touched her to cause pain.  Or how he had cupped her cheek while on his knees before her, desperate for her to let him help her. And, perhaps most of all, the kiss he'd pressed to her forehead. It was such an innocent act, in and of itself. Something she'd done a thousand times to Harry and Ron. Something her grandmother had done to her every holiday.  So why did it feel as if that soft contact had seared straight down to her heart?

 

Was it just that it had been far too long since a man touched her tenderly?  Or was it Severus, specifically, that made her heart pound and her knees weak?  Despite how crazy the notion was, she strongly suspected the latter. It was a strange, surprising realization.  Yes, things between them had been going well. They got along, liked and respected one another, but more than that?  She still felt caught, tugged in several different directions all at once. The idea of confronting her admittedly complex feelings for Severus was unsettling.  Instead, it was easier to push them away for now, especially with such a good excuse to focus on something else. 

 

The owl's appearance at the window increased from once or twice a day to a dozen times.  More than once, Hermione gave serious thought to trying to catch the poor creature and keep it caged until this was over, simply to keep Phillipe from running it ragged.  There were letters, howlers, even packages that she didn't dare contemplate the contents of. Even still, it seemed such a mild effort to get at her. So much so that Hermione was afraid when Phillipe finally decided to do more, it would be much,  _ much _ more all at once.

 

Hermione never let Atticus out of her sight.  She knew that Phillipe had no idea he even existed, but she continued to have terrible visions of her ex husband snatching her son from her grasp and vanishing with him.  It was her worst fear. At first, Atticus was happy for the extra attention from his mother. They played, read stories, and snuggled together. After a while, though, the confinement began to rankle on the little boy, despite the big house in which he could run around.  He wanted to go out and play in the snow. He wanted to visit the gardens. He began to act out, trying harder and harder to push the limits of his new situation. Hermione was at her wit's end keeping him occupied, frazzled and exhausted. Even Severus, who usually had immeasurable patience for Atticus, was having a hard time distracting the child from his insistent demands.

 

They had just finished breakfast a week after Phillipe had showed up, when the owl arrived.  Hermione had tried simply not letting it in, but that hadn't deterred it, and it had sat on their window ledge for hours before she finally took pity and let it in from the cold,  _ confunded _ it, and sent it back on its way.  So Hermione opened the window, prepared to let it fly inside.  The owl barely made it through the casing when it exploded. The window shattered.  Blood and feathers flew in all directions, spattering the kitchen and its occupants in gore.  Hermione screamed. Atticus shrieked and then began to bawl. Severus leaped to his feet, slammed the broken window shut, and then yanked Hermione away from it. 

 

She scooped Atticus up and began to try and wipe away the blood with shaking fingers, hushing him gently and promising him everything was alright.  Severus took one last look at the figure standing at the edge of the wards, then went to Hermione. With a few quick spells, he repaired the broken glass and cleaned most of the carnage from the three of them.  Unfortunately it would take more than basic spells to rid the kitchen of evidence of the explosion, but that would have to wait. Hermione let Atticus cling to her, trying to halt his hysterical crying. When Severus drew close, the little boy snatched at the front of Severus' shirt and clutched him tightly.  With his only choices to either wrench himself free of the child's grasp or press himself against Hermione, Severus chose to draw closer and wrap both arms around the pair of them. Any doubts he might have had whether Hermione would welcome the contact vanished as she melted against him.

 

Together, they calmed Atticus until he stopped crying.  Severus summoned the little blue bunny from the living room, and Atticus immediately stuffed one worn foot in his mouth.  After a few minutes, he finally stopped sniffling and wiggled to get down. Severus charmed a set of balls to float around the living room and let the boy chase after them.

 

“How did he manage that through our wards?” Hermione whispered as Atticus ran through the living room.

 

“He didn't.  I believe he shoved something down the bird's throat before sending it to the window.  A small explosive of some sort.”

 

“But it couldn't have gone far like that!”

 

“No,” Severus agreed softly, “it couldn't.”  Hermione turned to him with horror in her eyes. 

 

“He's here, isn't he?”  

 

Severus nodded.  “I spotted him at the edge of the wards.  But he can't get through.”

 

“That won't stop him.  He'll stay there until he finds a way like he did with the owl.  He won't give up...” Hermione fought the panic welling up inside her.  She needed to stay calm. To stay rational. “I'll go out and talk to him again.  Tell him that I'll call the aurors if he doesn't leave.”

 

“Hermione...”  Severus didn't want her anywhere near Phillipe.  More than anything, he wanted to lock Hermione and Atticus inside and handle this himself.  But he couldn't order her to stay away. 

 

“I'll stay in this side of the wards the entire time,” she assured him.  “He won't be able to touch me.”

 

“Do you really think talking to him will make any difference?”

 

“I... I don't know.  But I don't have anything else to try.”

 

“You could let me help you.”

 

“What would you do?”  She searched his eyes, as if sensing the barely contained violence within him.

 

“I would talk to him.  Make it clear that there are consequences for stalking you.  And unless I've lost my touch completely, intimidate the hell out of him.”

 

Hermione almost smiled at that.  Despite the tempering of his personality, Severus Snape had certainly not lost his touch when it came to intimidation.  How she would love to see Phillipe cower before the man. But this was her fight. She laid her hand against his chest and shook her head.  “Not now. If this doesn't work, maybe. If Atticus somehow gets involved, absolutely. But I need to try and handle this on my own.”

 

Severus studied her, seeing the resolve there.  Then he nodded. “Alright, then. We will stay inside.  Leave the door open, but put your strongest shield over it.  I want you to be able to get inside quickly, if you should need.”

 

“I will.”  She turned, knelt down, and called Atticus over to her.  He was hesitant to stop chasing after the balls that bounced enticingly away, but went to his mother.  “I need to go out for a few minutes, Atty. You are to stay inside and do what Severus says. Can you do that for me?”

 

“Ou'side?  Mummy go ou'side?”  His eyes lit up and he began to jump up and down.  “Atty go ou'side!”

 

“No, baby.  You have to stay inside.  I'll be right back.”

 

“Atty go ou'side!”

 

“No, Atticus.  I mean it. You are to stay in the house with Severus.”

 

“No no no!”  The little boy threw himself on the ground and pounded the floor.  “Atty ou'side! Atty ou'side!” He began chanting, louder and louder.

 

“Atticus Wendall Granger!”  Hermione wanted to shake him.  Couldn't he tell how important this was?  Didn't he realize that he was in danger?

 

“Hermione.”  Severus placed a hand on her shoulder and looked between them understandingly.  “Let him throw his tantrum. Any other time, I wouldn't interfere with your attempts to stop him, but right now, there are bigger matters at hand.”  He was right. She stood up and blocked out the sounds of Atticus' yelling. With quick, efficient movements designed to keep her hands from shaking, Hermione drew on her coat and opened the door.  “Your strongest shield over the door,” Severus reminded her. She stepped over the threshold, then turned back and put the shield charm in place. With one last look at Severus, and then at her son, still crying inside, she began walking out to the edge of the wards where a lone figure waited for her.

 

Severus kept her in his line of sight while flicking his wand at the enchanted toys to send them bouncing lightly off Atticus' head.  After the third ball careened away, he stopped yelling and started giggling. By the fifth, he shrieked with laughter and pushed to his feet, happy to chase the balls around again.  Hermione made it to the edge of the wards and began talking. Severus couldn't make out all the words, but he could tell from the jerky, quick gestures of Phillipe that the man was furious.  Hermione took a sharp step backwards and Severus gripped his wand. But she was still safe behind the wards. Phillips rebounded off them when he tried to snatch at her. He pounded both fists against the invisible barrier, his angry shouts carrying across the lawn.

 

“... _ back here you dirty slut!  You're nothing more... ...what I say!  I'll show you...” _  His voice rose and fell, bringing snippets of his ugly words into the house. 

 

“Stop it, Phillipe!”  Atticus looked up at the sound of his mother's voice, shrill and angry.  He saw her standing in the yard and let out a squeal of happiness. Quicker than a shot, he raced across the room and towards the door.  Severus started after him, prepared to calm him when he realized he could do no more than bounce off Hermione's shield. He was almost there when, to his horror, Atticus performed his first unintentional magic.  Instead of hitting the shield and stumbling back, he  _ melted through _ the shield and then solidified on the other side.  He looked back at Severus, confused as to what had just happened, then turned to his mother and began to run to her.

 

“ _ Hermione!”   _ Severus slammed into the shield and barely managed to stay upright.  “Hermione!” he bellowed again, whipping out his wand and tearing at the charm blocking his way.  Hermione turned, saw Atticus running towards her, felt the hot sting of rebound as Severus managed to rip her shield down.  She felt as if everything began to happen in slow motion. Phillipe's eyes turned to Atticus. Hermione began to run to her son.  Severus did the same. Atticus flew through the snow, shrieking happily, arms held out for his mother. The three of them collided midway across the lawn.  Hermione yanked Atticus against her and her momentum made her crash into Severus' chest. Somehow he stayed upright, bracing against Hermione just enough to keep Atticus from being smashed between them.  In a split second he wrapped his arms around her and whirled them around so that he was between them and Phillipe, his back to the other man.

 

“Who was that?” Phillipe demanded behind them.  Severus clutched Hermione and Atticus more tightly against his chest at the sound of his angry voice.  White hot rage flashed through him and then he pushed it away. With effort, he loosened his grip on Hermione and looked down at her, his chest still rising and falling sharply.  She, too, was fighting to catch her breath, body trembling with turbulent emotions. “Is that  _ my _ son?”

 

Hermione's whole body lurched.  For a moment, Severus thought she was going to black out from the sheer terror he saw reflected in her eyes.  “Let me handle this now,” he urged her softly. His deep, nearly hypnotic voice seemed to center her somewhat.  She looked down at her son, a thousand thoughts rushing through her mind all at once. Then she nodded. It came down to trust.  Did she trust Severus to protect her and Atticus? Did she trust him to deal with Phillipe the best way he could? Did she trust him not to judge her for needing his help?

 

The answer to all of them was  _ yes _ .  She nodded.  A wealth of tension she hadn't noticed before left him all at once.  What she saw in his eyes was nearly frightening in its intensity. Devotion.  Absolute, unwavering devotion. And then just like that, it was gone and his face had hardened into the mask she'd seen in her childhood.  Not Severus Snape the man, not Snape the professor, but Snape the Death Eater. Cold, powerful, dangerous. Only the gentle way he touched her cheek told her that the man she had come to know and care for was still within him.

 

“There is no need for you to stay out in the cold,” he said evenly.  Not an order, not really a request. Still, Hermione backed out of the circle of his arms and then turned towards the house.

 

“Is that my fucking kid?” Phillipe screamed behind her.  She ignored it and walked away.

 

Severus took his time, letting his mind fall into icy control, conjuring his dark robes around himself like battle armor.  Then he turned.

 

“Is that my-”  Phillipe stopped short when confronted with Severus Snape's black eyes.

 

“No, Mr Durand, that is  _ not _ your son.”  Phillipe blanched at the venom in his voice, but then went on.

 

“He looks the right age.  I bet that bitch ran off with my-”  he was cut off as Severus' arm shot through the ward and wrapped around Phillipe's throat.

 

“You are  _ mistaken _ .  The boy is  _ mine _ and his mother is under  _ my _ protection.  Insult her again at... your... peril.”  The drawled words made Phillipe pale further.  He clawed at Severus' hand trying to get it off.

 

“Get your fucking hands off me!  Do you know who I am?” 

 

Severus didn't lighten his grip.  “I am...aware. The question, Mr Durand, is if you know who  _ I _ am.”  He yanked Phillipe forward until his face was pressed against the barrier painfully.  For the first time, Phillipe really looked at Severus. His wide eyes travelled from the billowing black robes, to the hooked nose, and finally up to Severus' own glittering gaze.

 

“S-Snape?  Severus Snape?”

 

“That's right,” he drawled softly.  “It seems you aren't as stupid as you appear.  Perhaps merely suicidal? Stalking the family of a Death Eater and spy, the man who killed Albus Dumbledore and outmatched the Dark Lord himself... what a dangerous undertaking.”  Severus let his lips curl up into a sneer. “Maybe you are braver than I thought. Because, you see, I think you are very much a coward. Preying on those you can manipulate into being intimidated by you, relying on brute force against those physically weaker than you to get your way.  Does it make you feel like a man to force yourself on a woman who won't fight back? Does it make you feel powerful to belittle others until they cower before you?

 

“You aren't a man.  You're a rat. Vermin that has infested my home,”  His voice rose from it's deadly whisper, growling out as his grip on Phillipe's throat tightened, “and attacked  _ my family _ !  Tell me why I shouldn't slaughter you where you stand.”  Phillipe was flailing desperately now, pressing his hands against the wards and trying to yank his neck from Severus' iron grip.  He let out a garbled shriek, terror bringing tears to his eyes. “Silence,” Severus hissed. Phillipe froze, too afraid to disobey.  “You are going to leave this place. You are going to slink back to France and never again set foot on English soil. You are going to forget you ever heard the name Hermione Granger.  If you do not, I will know. If you even speak her name again, I will know. And I won't bring the aurors into the matter. Instead, one night, you will find yourself in a dark alley alone with me.  And no one will ever find your body.”

 

He squeezed Phillipe's throat tighter, then flung him backwards.  The man stumbled, crashed to the ground and crawled back, his eyes never leaving Severus.  “Get out of my sight,” Severus ordered him. Phillipe lifted his hand to his throat as if he could still feel long, impossibly strong fingers there cutting off his air.  The he Apparated away.

 

Severus let out a long slow breath, releasing the toxic persona he'd slipped into.  The one he never thought he would wear again. But there was no guilt, no conflict of feelings, that accompanied it this time.  He'd done what he needed to do to protect Hermione and Atticus, and he would do so again. Gladly. Once he was certain all the violence had left him, he made his way back to the house.

 

Hermione had stopped just inside the door, frozen to the spot as the conversation between Severus and Phillipe had reached her ears.  He'd said terrifying things. Spoken of himself in the darkest of terms. But what had rooted Hermione to the floor, what replayed over and over again in her mind, was that he'd called Atticus  _ his _ .  He'd referred to Hermione and her son as his  _ family _ .  Her heart felt as if it was being squeezed too tightly within her chest.  How was she supposed to respond to those declarations?

 

Of course he'd been saying what Phillipe needed to hear to stop stalking them.  He'd said that Atticus wasn't Phillipe's son, which was just as much of a lie. So why couldn't she put it from her mind?  Why, as she watched Severus cross the lawn towards her in long strides, couldn't he keep herself from desperately hoping that he'd meant them?

 

“Are you both alright?” he asked softly when he reached them.  Hermione nodded, still clutching Atticus to her chest. “Hermione, I had no idea he could get through your shield.  You have to believe that if I thought, even for a moment, that he could pass through it, I wouldn't have let him anywhere-”

 

“I know,” she interrupted him.  “Of course I know that. How could you have guessed he would be able to?  Even you had trouble getting past it.”

 

“I should have been quicker.  He was just barely out of arm's reach, and once he'd gone through, I had to take your charm down before I could get him.  I'm so sorry, Hermione.”

 

“Severus, stop.  There's no way you could have known.  It happened, and you dealt with it. You didn't have to.  You didn't have to get involved in any of this. You  _ chose _ to.  And for that I can't express my gratitude enough.”

 

“I don't need your thanks for that,” he murmured softly.  “In fact, you deserve  _ mine _ for letting me speak on your behalf.  I know you wanted to handle this on your own.  I respect that more than I can say. But people like him, bullies, megalomaniacs, they don't listen to reason.  They only respond to power. They make themselves feel strong by intimidating those weaker than them. When confronted with someone bigger than them, their true cowardice shows.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “I know. I heard what you said to him.”  Severus stilled. His breath caught and he cursed himself for not remembering how much the sound carried across the distance.

 

“You heard it?  All of it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Hermione-”  He swallowed, trying to decide where to start.  She hadn't ridiculed him or angrily demanded an explanation, which was a positive start, at least.

 

“Wait.”  Hermione stepped back, making Severus' heart clutch painfully.  “I need to sit down, if we're going to talk. I know I should lay him down, but I can't bear to let him go quite yet.”  She looked down at Atticus, who had fallen asleep on her chest.

 

“Of course,” Severus said in a rush.  “Get comfortable and I'll put the kettle on.  Then we can go from there.” She nodded, hitching her son higher in her arms and moving down the hallway towards the library.  Severus put together the tea service quickly, thoughts spinning madly. With effort, he calmed his mind and levitated the tea tray ahead of him into the library.  

 

Hermione had settled herself into her chair and propped her feet up on the footstool.  Atticus slept in her arms, his head pillowed on her breast and one little hand resting against her shoulder.  She was humming to him softly. Every few moments, she kissed the top of his head or brushed his hair off his forehead.  Severus cleared his throat softly so he didn't startle her when he entered. She looked up, and the tender look in her eyes didn't fade as he'd expected it to.  Disquieted, he took his seat next to her and prepared two cups of tea, then handed her one.

 

“Thank you,” she said softly.

 

“You are very welcome,” he replied just as quietly.  

 

“You were right, about Phillipe.  About me not being the right person to handle him.  I hate that I had to involve you, but he didn't respect me, and he never would have listened to me.  And, if I'm being perfectly honest, I'm not sure I'm in the right place, emotionally, to bear his ire.  Just being near him takes me back to the girl I was... I felt so weak, so worthless.”

 

“You are neither,” Severus interjected fervently.  “It is very important that you realize that when I spoke of him bullying those weaker than himself, I meant physically.  You are a far more powerful and intelligent than him. The weakness that he made you feel, the inferiority, was a lie.”

 

“I- I know,” she admitted.  “It's taken me a long time to believe that, and I still have a way to go, but intellectually, I know you're right.  He couldn't control me unless he had me convinced that I needed him. That I was helpless without him. Too stupid, too broken, to function without him to lead me.  I know it was just a tool to make me easier to manipulate. Still, it's a hard habit to break. Hard not to let myself slip back into that mindset when confronted directly by him.  And I hate that.” There were tears in her eyes and she blinked them back furiously.

 

“Accepting the truth of it is the first step, even if you can't feel it all the time.  It might take  _ years _ to rid yourself of his influence completely.  But you'll never have to face him again. You can stop being afraid of him and start moving on with your life.”

 

“I have you to thank for that.”

 

“ _ You _ did it, Hermione.  You left him. You defied him after he'd stripped you of everything you were.  You had the courage to get away from him, pregnant, penniless, and alone. You are the one who did that.”

 

“I know.  But you gave me back a life without fear.  I hadn't realized, until he showed up last week, just how much I had been letting that fear affect my life.  Affect Atty's life.”

 

“You have done nothing short of an exemplary job with your son.  Never doubt that.”

 

“I appreciate that.  It means... a lot, coming from you.”  She looked down at Atticus, then took a breath and brought up what had been most on her mind.  “And what you said about him, to Phillipe-”

 

“Hermione, please let me say that I meant nothing untoward by what I said.  I won't lie to you and say that it was a fabrication for Phillipe's sake alone.  But I have no intention of becoming an imposition in your life. And I have no misconceptions about my small place in your son's.  Whatever else you take from my words earlier, know that I am not expecting anything from you.”

 

“Severus.”  She set down her cup and placed her hand lightly over his.  “I wasn't upset by what you said. Surprised, absolutely. But not unhappy or concerned.  Not by far.”

 

“You're...not?”  He looked at where her fingers were resting lightly on the back of his hand and felt his breath hitch.

 

“No.  Atty adores you.  You have come to mean very much, to both of us, in very little time.  The fact that you feel the same way about him is wonderful. I've never once felt that you were overstepping your bounds with him.  From the very first you have been careful to make sure I was comfortable with everything you did that included him.”

 

She paused, drawing her hand away so he didn't mistake her next words for an expectation of more.  “It's been a long time since I had family. Growing up, I had so much. My parents, Harry and Ron, all the Weasleys,” she smiled a little through a sheen of tears.  “And then it seemed like I lost all of them at once. It was my own doing, but still, it hurt. Hearing you say that we were  _ your _ family...  It felt so good.  I know we have long since skewed the line between employer and employee, but I'm not going to pretend that I'm not glad.”

 

“I had been afraid, considering what you've been through, that the idea would terrify you.”

 

“I'm not saying that I don't have my doubts and fears.  There are plenty of those. But the predominant feeling is glad.”

 

“It has never been my intention to push you further than you are comfortable, and immediately after going through a traumatic confrontation is not ideal timing, but perhaps it would be best if I showed my hand. I have been drawn to you, Hermione.  Almost from the first. How could I not be?” He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “You are brilliant, beautiful, caring, generous, a paragon of motherhood, and you landed on my doorstep as if the fates themselves had led you there. 

 

“The only reason I asked Minerva to set me up on those ridiculous dates was to prove to myself that what I was feeling wasn't the result of suddenly living with an unattached witch after spending so much time in seclusion.  There was absolutely no contest. You are more than a man such as I has any right to ask for in a woman. And I don't say that out of some misplaced sense of self deprecation or because I don't think I deserve to be happy. I mean it, knowing full well my own worth and what I can provide a partner.

 

“I am not blind to your faults, nor am I ignorant of the hurdles we would have to overcome in order to make any deeper relationship between us work.  It is too soon for commitments, but we have such an unconventional situation that I cannot attempt to court you as I would. And maybe that is for the best, after all.  I am not a young man. I know what I want, and feel no need to play games or second guess myself. My only reason left for hesitation has been my uncertainty of your reception.  I have no desire to make you uncomfortable in our home or push you into something you might not want or be ready for.”

 

“What exactly  _ do _ you want?”  Hermione knew it was unfair to ask him to spell out his desires so plainly when she hadn't given him any real declaration of her feelings, but she needed to know.

 

“I want you,” he said simply.  “I want to have a real relationship with you, with the end goal of making the three of us a real family.”  It was too soon, far too soon to even be thinking the words, let alone be expressing them out loud to Hermione, but they were said and there was no taking them back.  All he could do was hope against hope, and wait for her response.

 

Hermione looked down at the little boy sleeping in her arms, reminding herself that every decision she made would affect his life.  And so she couldn't make a single decision without his best interest foremost in her mind. Even one that she wanted to make based on her feelings alone.  She hadn't been stretching the truth when she said that Atticus adored Severus. He did. And Hermione had no doubt that Severus would make for a fantastic father figure as Atticus grew up.  In time, he would easily become the father that her son had never had. He was young enough that he wouldn't remember life before Severus had been in it.

 

In addition, on a more practical level, Severus could indeed provide for them.  His home was large, big enough for a growing boy and perhaps even a growing family.  The stability that Severus could give her son was nothing to be scoffed at. Atticus would want for nothing.

 

With all those things being said, Hermione would not accept Severus as a partner simply because of her son.  It wouldn't be fair to either of them, and eventually, Atticus would resent them both for it. Severus deserved a woman who loved him unconditionally, who stayed by his side because it was where she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world.  Could Hermione be that woman?

 

Her reckless heart whispered  _ yes _ .  But she'd been led astray by it once before.  The truth was that she wasn't ready to pledge herself to the man yet.  Yes, she was half in love with him. Yes, she was attracted to him, respected him, cared for him deeply.  He had made a place for her in his home and in his heart, and she knew that no matter what else happened between them, she would never stop being grateful for his presence in her life.  The fact that he wanted her, a single mother with self esteem problems and more baggage than a socialite on a summer holiday, went a long way to making her tempted to throw herself at his feet and beg him to make her his unequivocally.  But then, that was half the problem, wasn't it?

 

She was still battling the demons Phillipe had left her with.  Still fighting to reclaim the independent, confident woman she'd been before he'd reduced her to all her most basic fears.  The real question she had to ask herself, was if she trusted Severus to be able to weather the storm with her, to help her rebuild herself into a person she could be proud of.  And whether she trusted  _ herself _ not to lose the little of her sense of self she'd managed to scrape together.  Severus was a powerful, potent man. It would be so easy to give him everything she was and keep nothing for herself.  No pride, no individuality, no dignity.

 

It took little thought to realize that she did, indeed, trust Severus to keep her whole while he claimed her.  He would give everything within his power to protect her, even from herself.

 

So it all came down to one thing.  Could she trust herself? And the answer was that she wasn't one hundred percent sure.  Her confidence had never fully recovered, and she couldn't be certain that it ever would.  So where did that leave her?

 

“The one thing I want you to know, first, is that I care about you.  More than as an employer, more than a friend. I  _ want _ you, in every sense of the word, and Atty and I would be lucky to have you in our lives permanently.  But I need you to understand that I can't trust myself to dive into another serious relationship with no holds barred.  It would be so easy for me to let myself get lost. To depend on you completely and never get back the person I used to be.

 

“I'm not sure where that leaves us, though.  There is such a huge part of me that wants to grab onto the idea of more, of  _ everything _ like a lifeline, and I half hate myself for holding back.  But it wouldn't be fair to you or to me if I-”

 

“I'm not asking you for everything, yet,” Severus said softly.  He picked up Hermione's hand, emboldened by her admission of her feelings.  She wanted him.  _ In every sense of the word, _ she'd said.  That meant there was hope.  “I want the opportunity to get to know you more, to help you rebuild your life.  I want the privilege of getting to touch you, hold you, tell you how I feel, any time I want.  But I won't rush you, and I won't let you get lost along the way. Don't you see? What I love about you is your fire, your spirit.  I would do anything in my power to nurture those things.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. As he watched, her eyes drifted closed and her lips parted. 

 

Oh, how he wanted to taste her there.  To gather her into his arms and plunder her mouth, to delve into every recess of her body and taste the sweetness of her secrets.  But that would have to wait. For now, it was enough to cradle her hand in his own and continue to press kisses to it, one on the tip of each finger, one on her knuckles, and then cup her palm over his cheek and lean into her touch.

 

Atticus let out a low snore, and despite the inconvenience of being interrupted, they both smiled indulgently.

 

“I should get him up to bed now,” Hermione admitted.  The arm that she had under him had long since gone numb.  She was happy to hold him all night, but knew he preferred to roll around in his own bed.  Already, his hair was damp with sweat from being pressed so close to her body heat. Severus nodded and rose, offering her his arm to help her up.  She staggered for a moment, the stress of the day and the weight of her son hitting her all at once. “Remind me again why I thought it would be a good idea not to take him up the two flights of stairs while I still had some stamina?”  He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

 

“Do you trust me?” 

 

She smiled up at him, not a single trace of doubt inside her.  “Completely.”

 

“Hold onto me, then,” he requested.  She wrapped her free arm around him. Severus took a breath, fingered his wand with his free hand for extra focus, and then stepped sideways following the ever so slight tug behind his navel.  They slipped into the attic sitting room with a muted thud. Hermione looked around, then up at him in wonder. 

 

“You can side-along  _ two _ people that smoothly?”  

 

He smirked.  “I meant it when I said that it would be no trouble to side-along Atticus.”

 

“Just how many can you do?”

 

“Three is rather jolting.  I could probably manage four in an emergency, but I couldn't guarantee everyone would arrive with all ten fingers and toes.”  He raised one shoulder casually, as if he wasn't talking about extraordinary feats of magic. Hermione shook her head at him. He was so cavalier, so unassuming with his power.  It was an incredibly refreshing change from what she was used to.

 

“You continually amaze me, you know that?”  Atticus shifted in her arms and she turned to his bedroom.  “If you'll just wait a moment, I'll lay him down and then I can say goodnight.”

 

Severus nodded, watching her disappear into the other room.  She could just as easily have bid him goodnight while Atticus was still in her arms.  Instead, she'd asked him to wait. She wanted more than a perfunctory farewell with her hands full.  A thrill shot through him but he smothered it. She had just admitted to him that she was afraid of giving too much of herself too fast and repeating the mistakes she'd made before.  She was counting on him to help her not to. He'd given her his word and he would damn well keep it.

 

Even if it meant he would be taking cold showers before bed for Merlin knew how long.

 

When she returned, she ran her hand through her hair nervously and bit her lip.  He didn't move towards her, letting her make the decision, set the pace, so she smiled and stepped close to him.

 

“Thank you for everything,” she murmured, resting her hands against his chest lightly.

 

“It was my pleasure, Hermione,” he replied, lifting her chin with one knuckle.  Instead of kissing her lips as he longed to, though, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her.  It was a hedonistic delight to hold her for no other reason than that he wanted to and he could. She felt small and feminine in his arms, but so unbelievably strong.  Her head fit perfectly tucked beneath his chin and she leaned into the embrace. There wasn't anything more he would have asked for in that moment. Feeling her there against him, accepting his embrace and returning it, their hearts beating in tandem, was the culmination of everything he'd been looking for in his life.

 

And there was so much more yet to come.

 

He wanted to hold her until he'd had his fill, but quickly realized that he would  _ never _ have his fill of her, never tire of having her in his arms, and forced himself to let her go.  “Goodnight, Hermione,” he said softly, pressing one more kiss to her forehead.

 

“Goodnight, Severus.”  She trailed her fingers down his arm, keeping them connected until the last possible moment when he slipped out the door and out of sight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm going to copy and paste a quick Author Note here that I included in the original posting of this story for this chapter. Obviously no one has had a chance to comment on Phillipe yet since I'm mass posting the chapters, but I think it still needs mentioned-
> 
> Ok, so there's something I want to talk about that's a potential spoiler for the story here, so if you don't care for those, you may want to skip this part:
> 
> Many, many of my lovely reviewers have made comments about Phillipe and his eminent return. Usually I revel in the suspense, but this time I want to say right off the bat that we won't be seeing him again in this story. He is an abuser and a bully, but a coward most of all. Like most abusers, he is obsessed with Hermione and the power he has over her, but he has no interest (or ability) to stand up to someone he can't manipulate- like Severus. Many victims of domestic abuse are seriously wounded or killed before their abusers are stopped; indeed, the statistics of it in the US are alarming. But this story isn't about Phillipe (who, let's face it, would have to have a serious death wish to face Severus after that last confrontation). It's about Hermione and her road to recovery. I could draw out the suspense and have a final face off between them simply for shock value, but I think that would cheapen the core of the story at this point. As much as I would love for Hermione to see Phillipe done away with permanently (and I'm sure she's fantasized about it more than once!) I don't think its necessary to her journey. She doesn't need that kind of closure. Phillipe is NOTHING, and she is coming to realize that. He will make as many appearances in the rest of the story as he deserves, as in, none at all. Hermione still has to face the long road of recovering from him, but the monster himself has been vanquished.
> 
> Sorry if this puts any of you off, or leaves anyone unsatisfied. Hopefully the rest of the story will make up for that : )

The next morning, Hermione prepared the full English for the three of them.  Atticus banged his juice cup against the table happily as he waited for his plate.  Severus walked in just as Hermione was finishing the last of the cooking. She set down the spatula and turned to him, smiling shyly.

  
“Good morning,” she murmured, wanting to go to him, but not knowing if she should.  Would she embrace him? Kiss him? Throw herself at him and beg him to ravage her? In the end, Severus resolved the issue with his usual grace.  He closed the distance between them, cradled the back of her head with one hand, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 

“Good morning,” he returned softly.  She grinned, then handed him a loaded plate.  He took it and turned to the table. “And good morning to you, Atticus.”  He ruffled the little boy's hair lightly as he set down his plate.

 

“Sev'us!”  Atticus gave up on banging the juice cup and started clapping.  “Atty gets bangers! Atty gets bangers!” He plucked two off the plate his mother set in front of him and gripped one in each fist, grinning broadly.

 

“So I see,” Severus returned with a smile of his own.  Hermione joined them at the table and tucked into her own meal.  “Do the two of you have any plans for the day?”

 

“Nothing set in stone, no.  I know I need to get back on the house work, but Atty's been cloistered inside for so long now that I thought I might put it off for one more day if you don't mind and take him out to play.”  She bit her lip, worried she was pushing the limits of what was fair.

 

“By all means,” Severus agreed readily.  “I think that is a brilliant idea. There's nothing around here that won't keep.  Trust me, I know. I have left it all far longer than this at one point or another.”

 

“Still, I don't want to take advantage,” Hermione hedged.  “I'll be getting back into my regular routine tomorrow.”

 

Severus shrugged negligently.  “As you like.” Hermione smiled in relief and continued eating.  She knew things were changing between them, but she didn't think she could abide feeling like a burden to him.  Her independence was still too fragile to withstand it.

 

“What do you think, Atty?  Want to go play in the snow?”

 

“Ou'side?  Atty pway ou'side?”  When Hermione nodded, he shrieked and began to practically vibrate with happiness.  “Mummy pway ou'side?” She nodded and he gave another shriek. “Sev'us pway ou'side?”  He turned and looked at Severus with wide, expectant eyes. Severus' own gaze flicked to Hermione's quickly, but she gave nothing of her own desires away.

 

“I do have some ingredients to gather from the gardens,” he admitted.  “Perhaps I could gather them this morning and have some time left over to spend in leisure, if your mother doesn't mind the intrusion.”  His eyes once more flicked from Hermione to Atticus. The little boy's brows were drawn together in confusion as he tried to understand what Severus had just said.  Severus fought a smirk as he simplified. “If your mummy says it's okay.”

 

Atty's head swung to Hermione with eager hope written plainly on his face.  She laughed. “It's fine by me, but you have to promise not to bother him while he's working.”

 

“Hooray!”  Atticus threw both hands in the air, spattering both adults with bits of sausage and grease.  They simultaneously grimaced, wiped their faces, and then broke into laughter.

 

With the dishes rinsed and stacked in the sink, the three of them set about bundling up against the cold.  Hermione charmed Atticus' gloves to stay warm, then laced up his snow boots. A water resistant coat went on next, followed by scarf and hat.  Hermione tucked her jeans into her own snow boots and zipped herself into her warmest coat. While she was pulling her gloves on, she was surprised to see that Severus, too, wore a coat instead of a cloak.  She didn't think she'd ever seen him in one. It should have looked odd, but instead, she found it... striking. The black leather had been worn butter soft, and was cut to fit his broad shoulders and trim waist.  She had jerked her eyes away, rebuking herself for oogling her employer, before she remembered that they had both come clean to each other about their hope for... more. With a satisfied smile, she allowed her gaze to turn back to him and admire the way the faded leather encased his torso.

 

He caught her look and went a little stiff under the perusal at first, then felt a stiffness of another sort entirely when he realized the look on her face was pure female longing.  His toes curled in his boots. Immediately he halted the foolish reaction, but he couldn't stop the way his lips twitched up to match her smile.

 

Outside, more snow had fallen in a thick, dense blanket.  The sun shone brightly in a rare display of winter clarity.  Atticus ran into the white sea with a whoop, his little legs barely able to take him through the deep drifts.  By the time they made it around back and were walking towards the gardens, the little boy's cheeks were rosy with excitement and the cold.  Hermione laughed as she chased him, the little pouf on the top of her knit hat bouncing with her movements. Severus excused himself to gather clippings from the plants while Hermione took Atticus off to build a snowman.

 

It was true that he would eventually have need of more holly leaves and poinsettia trimmings, but he'd had no real need to get them that day.  Instead of focusing on his task, he let his eyes wander to the mother and son playing across the lawn from him. When he'd gone to bed the night before, his mind had been consumed with thoughts of Hermione.  Of what their relationship  _ could _ be.  The emotional, the physical...  He'd fallen asleep to the tantalizing possibility of a life with her.  Watching the two of them together, though, he was reminded yet again that Hermione was a package deal.  She came with a child- a ready made family.

 

In his younger years, he might have sneered at the idea.  Raising another man's son. He'd known men who knowingly or unknowingly had done just that, and he'd thought them fools.  Bad enough the idea of sacrificing their peace, their hard earned living, for their own progeny, let alone the spawn of another.  Now, though, those thoughts felt petty and ridiculous. It took a special kind of man, with a special kind of heart, to be able to accept another man's child as his own.  To love it as his own. And though he'd never thought of himself as particularly special or large hearted, he knew that if they would let him, he would love Atticus as his own son with no reservations.

 

The little boy was intelligent, well behaved - in so far as toddlers can be- stubborn, bold, and insatiably curious.  He was playful and generous and kind. The idea of claiming Atticus made Severus swell with pride. He would grow up to be a good man, maybe even a  _ great _ man.  To have a chance to be involved in that, to be able to contribute to that, was awesome in the truest sense of the word.  The boy hadn't yet turned three. He'd never known a father. If Hermione approved, if things between them progressed the way Severus hoped they would, Severus would be the only father Atticus ever knew.  What they decided to tell him about his biological contributions in the future didn't matter. Severus would be his parent. It was a bond that never ended. Friendships faded, marriages could crumble, but the bond between parent and child was forever.  If Severus became the child's father, they would be irrevocably bound.

 

The idea should have terrified him.  The weight of it should have settled like a stone in his stomach.  Instead, he felt... stronger. As if he was better grounded by the responsibility.  The thought flitted through his mind that someday, if he was very lucky, the little boy currently gathering snow together into a clumsy snow ball, might call him daddy.  His heart clenched in his chest.

 

The little snow ball flew through the air and smacked Hermione in the leg.  She dropped dramatically and rolled to her back. When she saw Severus striding towards them, she called out to him, “Avenge me!”

 

“Ah, lady fair, I think you don't realize where my loyalties lie.  In snow, it's always witches against wizards. Get another one together, Atticus, we are at war!”

 

Hermione squealed as the perfectly formed snowball flew from Severus' hands and hit her square in the chest.  Atticus began gathering up snow eagerly and Hermione scrambled to do the same. She was quick, and had more experience in the snow than the men, so she got off two more shots before they did, one at Atty's legs, and the other managing to glance off Severus' shoulder as he tried to dodge it.  Then she dove for cover. Two more snowballs came flying at her. One hit her bum while the other sailed by her ear. Laughing breathlessly, she hid behind the snowman they'd built earlier and fired off three more balls. She didn't even look to see if they hit, instead gathering up more snow and packing it together.  When she peeked around the snowman, a ball went flying by head. Atty shrieked and threw his as well, which hit the snowman with a wet thump. The little boy giggled and threw another. Hermione quickly began to make more projectiles but then realized that it had gone ominously silent. She looked up just in time to see Atticus, held up in Severus' arms, push the head of the snow man down on her.  It broke apart over her hat, raining wet snow down onto her face and shoulders.

 

Atticus shrieked with laughter.  Severus growled and put his shoulder against the body of the snowman,  tackling it atop Hermione and sprawling all three of them into the snow.  Hermione sputtered and flailed, shaking snow off her face and laughing like a loon.  She and Severus were on their backs, close enough that they were nearly touching. Atticus was stretched out atop them both, giggling and tossing fist fulls of snow in the air.

 

“I declare victory for the men,” Severus said when he caught his breath.

 

“Two against one is hardly fair,” Hermione protested.

 

“Vi'try for the men!” Atticus began to chant.  Hermione capitulated with a sigh.

 

“Then on behalf of witches everywhere, I concede defeat.  This time.” She kissed Atticus on the nose and pulled his hat more securely over his ears.  When her hand came back down, it brushed against Severus'. Her cheeks were already red with the cold, but she felt them flush.  She waited, not moving her hand away, but not daring to move it closer, either. After a beat, Severus laced his fingers with hers and gripped tightly.  Atticus, unaware of what was passing between the adults, put his hands on either side of Hermione's face and blew a raspberry on her cheek. She laughed and wiped the wet away with her free hand.  Then he turned and did the same to Severus.

 

Severus growled and rolled Atticus onto Hermione, then began to mercilessly tickle him.  Hermione held the flailing, giggling little boy against her chest and pressed tickling kisses against his neck and cheeks.  He shrieked with laughter, rosy cheeks plumped up in an endless grin. Finally, they took pity on him and let him catch his breath.  He patted his mother's face softly and kissed her. Hermione thought her heart would burst from being too full.

 

“Ne't time, I hewp mummy!” he declared.  Severus scowled at him with mock ferocity.

 

“Treachery!”

 

“In that case, I think we will trounce him, Atty.  You're a champion snow ball thrower.”

 

“I taught him well,” Severus said solemnly.

 

“All the better to use your own wisdom against you.”

 

“You're bloodthirsty, witch,” he grumbled good naturedly, pulling them both to their feet.

 

“Absolutely,” Hermione agreed.  “Now that I've got the measure of you, the two of us will be unbeatable.”  She hitched Atticus higher on her hip. Severus quirked a brow and plucked the boy from her arms, setting him on his shoulders easily.  Atticus let out a cry of delight and wrapped his little arms around Severus' forehead, holding on tight.

 

“Then I'll just have to bribe your secret weapon back to my side, won't I?”  He tilted his head to the side and looked up at Atticus. The banter was utterly lost on the boy, and he only let out another squeal of happiness and giggled.  Severus kept one hand on Atty's leg just in case he decided to pitch backwards in a fit of laughter, but he let his other hand take Hermione's, lacing their fingers together once more. 

 

Back in the house, the chill finally soaked into them and they began to quickly strip off wet clothes.  Atticus was the least affected, having been thoroughly bundled up against the snow. Once his boots, gloves, hat, scarf, and coat were off, he ran to the living room to grab his blue bunny.  Hermione and Severus set about peeling off their soaked layers at a more leisurely pace. Coats and gloves were hung to dry, boots arranged on the rug to catch the rapidly melting snow. Hermione looked up and realized that Severus was soaked from the knees down.

 

“Look at the state of you,” she chuckled, half turning to make sure Atty hadn't gotten into mischief already.  He let out his own bark of laughter and gestured to her back side.

 

“You're one to talk.”

 

She craned her neck and realized that the seat of her jeans was indeed, just as soaked as his trousers, and also, plastered to her arse cheeks as if they'd been painted on.  She covered her bum with her hands and gave a yelp of embarrassment. As of on cue, her teeth started to chatter from the chill that had been steadily sinking into her bones.  The wet jeans were  _ not _ helping the situation.

 

“I think everyone could use a bath to warm up,” she said through her chattering teeth.  Severus quirked one brow and smirked.

 

“Well I'll admit that's moving a little more quickly than I had anticipated, but I suppose I'm game if you are.”

 

“Wretched man,” she chided.  When he merely shrugged, she slipped one of her damp socks off her feet, balled it up, and tossed it in the direction of his forehead.  He batted it away with a laugh.

 

“Fine, fine.  Perhaps we can reconvene in the kitchen when everyone is warm and dry?”

 

“That sounds perfect.  Atty? Lets go up and take a bath.”  She held out her hand for him.

 

“Otay mummy.”  He stuffed the foot of his bunny in his mouth and took his mother's hand, then held out his other for Severus.  He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and took the little hand, then they all started up the stairs.

 

Half an hour later, Hermione and Atticus walked into the kitchen.  Severus was already there, stacking sandwiches on a tray. He was wearing soft black sleep pants, a faded t shirt, and his feet were bare.  His hair was still damp and he ran his hand through it absently, pulling the strands away from his face. Hermione had never seen him look so...  _ young _ .  He didn't look like a forty-something ex-spy who had survived two wars.  Perhaps it was seeing him dressed so casually, perhaps it was the way his face lit up in a smile as Atticus yelled, “lunch!” and ran towards him.  Perhaps it was the way he scooped the boy up and settled him on a hip as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked like any other father with his young son.  It made butterflies take off in Hermione's stomach.

 

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to pull him in for a kiss that would curl his toes.  He looked over at her, saw the heat in her eyes, and swallowed hard. She was dressed just as casually as he was, with her wet hair braided back from her face, crimson sweat pants slung low across her hips, and a soft long sleeved shirt that matched the dusky gold color of her eyes.  He forced his gaze not to stray down to check when his mind wondered if she was wearing a bra.

 

“You made lunch,” she said after the silence had started to stretch between them.  He nodded, lifting the tray in the hand that wasn't holding Atty.

 

“If you would grab us some drinks, I thought we might take this whole affair into the living room and eat in front of the fire.”

 

“And cawtoons?” Atticus asked hopefully, looking between the two of them.

 

“I do not have a television....”

 

“I can project them through my wand, if you don't mind being subjected to some seriously questionable programming.”

 

“By all means, then.”  He started towards the living room and realized that Atticus was still looking at him for an answer, one brow raised in a gesture that mirrored Severus' best arch.  “That means yes,” he clarified for the little boy.

 

“Hooray!”  Atticus began bouncing against his side, eager for his cartoons.  Hermione followed behind them with bottles of pumpkin juice and water.  With a few quick swishes of his wand, Severus rearranged the furniture so that the squashy couch was facing the fireplace, with the low coffee table between.  He handed a sandwich apiece to Atticus and Hermione, then took one for himself. Once she had handed over the drinks, she cast a spell and then laid her wand on the table in front of them, the tip of it pointing at the wall above the fire.  Light streamed from it, and the flickering of images began to project on the wall.

 

They ate their lunch while watching the silly cartoons.  Severus found he didn't mind the one about the little girl and her duck, but he was extremely confused by the one with the singing cucumber.  Atticus loved that one so much that he'd made Hermione rewind it three times to watch it again. He sat happily snuggled between the two adults, occasionally making gibberish commentary on the shows, or munching on the cookies Severus had summoned from the kitchen for dessert.  After a while, Severus' arm came around Hermione's shoulders. She pressed closer to his side, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

 

Atticus dropped off first, mesmerized by the mindless cartoons and a full belly.  Hermione succumbed next, the heat from the fire soaking into her toes and the steady beat of Severus' heart in her ear.  He knew he should probably wake her so she could take Atticus up to his own bed. Or he should carefully disentangle himself from the two of them and let them nap on their own.  Instead, he slowly lengthened the depth of the couch, leaned it back slightly, wrapped his arm around them both, and let himself join them in sleep.

 

***  


 

The next week fell into a soothing routine of normalcy with a few big exceptions.  Hermione went back to her work on the estate, putting things back to rights that had begun to slip through the cracks in the days prior.  Atticus still chased cars up and down the halls, or played out in the snow while she tended the gardens. They all ate their meals together just as they had been before.  But Severus greeted Hermione with a kiss on her forehead each morning, and at night while they read together in the library, they held hands.

 

Severus seemed to be taking extra care to spend more time with Atticus. He'd already been attentive to the boy, affectionate even, but now he actively sought out Atty to show him things that he would think were neat, or put a different charm on one of his toys that would make him shriek with laughter.  Once, Hermione had come out from dusting the guest room to find Severus sitting on the floor in the hall next to Atticus, the two of them seeing who could make their car go the furthest with a single push. It didn't escape her notice when he flicked a finger at Atty's retreating car and it shot forward ahead of his own.  Atticus jumped to his feet in happiness and raced off to collect the cars.

 

“That's cheating,” she chided playfully.  Severus only shrugged and grinned at her.

 

“Sometimes a child needs to win.  Just wait till I teach him chess. Then I'll be merciless.”

 

She laughed and went back to cleaning, leaving them playing together in the hall.

 

At the end of the second week, Severus asked her if she still trusted Madam Serene to watch Atticus.  When the answer was a (confused) affirmative, he requested that she book the sitter for the next evening, if possible.  When she asked why, he promptly informed her that he was taking her on a date. She blushed, then hurried out of the room to call Madam Serene.

 

By seven o'clock, Atticus was tucked into bed, Madam Serene was knitting in the attic sitting room, and Hermione was loitering at the top of the stairs.  All she needed to do was walk down them and they could Apparate to the restaurant. One foot in front of the other. Such a simple task. And yet, she was having trouble getting herself to complete it.  She fidgeted with the hem of the dress she was wearing. Why had she chosen red? It was Gryffindor colors, and he hated them, she was sure. Not to mention, red was flashy and gaudy. Phillipe would have never allowed her-

 

She closed her eyes and  stopped that thought in its tracks.  She didn't give a flying fuck what Phillipe would have allowed.  She wouldn't let herself. She could leave the house looking however she wanted, and heaven help anyone who thought to stop her.  Perhaps, subconsciously, that was part of why she'd chosen the crimson dress. To assert herself. She wasn't wearing Slytherin colors for him.  Yes, she wanted to look good for him, wanted him to appreciate what she looked like, but she wasn't seeking his approval. It would have been a dangerous way to start.

 

And she knew, despite the treacherous, insidious, whispering of her mind, that Severus wouldn't care what she wore.  He would want her to be comfortable, to be happy, and that would be enough for him. He didn't expect her to look a certain way or act a certain way.  He wanted her for exactly who she was, not who he could shape her to become. So why couldn't she force her feet to move?

 

Every insecurity she'd ever had, from her childhood as well as the ones Phillipe had cultivated, came rushing back to her.  How could Severus possibly want her? She might have learned some restraint, but she was still an insufferable swot with bushy hair and a knack for irritating people.  There was no way he could ever see her as anything but a burden. He was already providing her salary, her home, her safety from her cruel ex-husband. And she didn't think she was asking too much from him yet?  Why not add his heart and his lifelong devotion as well?

 

From somewhere in her heart came the whisper that she already had both of those.  Didn't she see evidence of that every day? He had already admitted that he cared for her, that he wanted them to be a real family.  The only hurdle she was facing, was herself. She wasn't just an annoying know-it-all. She was an intelligent young woman with a thirst for knowledge and love of reading that was rivaled by Severus' own.  She was reasonably attractive, her body trim and feminine- especially considering she had a toddler- and she had plenty to offer a man like him. She looked damn good in her red dress, and she could go down those stairs knowing that she would give him sparkling dinner conversation as well as one hell of a view for the evening.

 

Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other.  She made it down the stairs to the second floor, then started towards the main level.  She faltered. Logic be damned, some insecurities just couldn't be quelled. What if he was disappointed?  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to take those last steps and go out toward the door. Severus was looking at a pocket watch when she came around the corner.  He snapped it shut and looked up, then froze. His breath escaped him in a rush that left his lips parted slightly. Hermione stopped, more uncertain than ever. It was the heels.  High heels made it look like she was trying too hard. Or she'd put too much Sleekezes in her hair and it looked ridiculous. Why hadn't she just pulled it back like normal?

 

He took a step forward, then stopped and let his eyes once more rove over her.  She fidgeted, blushed, and wasn't sure if she should scowl or laugh hysterically.  Instead, her lips curled up into a hesitant smile. “You look good,” she said softly.  He did. He was wearing a tailored muggle suit. It was similar to his regular frock coat and trousers, but more trim and with far less buttons.  His hair had been pulled back into a queue at the nape of his neck. There was a tiny white flower in the buttonhole of his lapel.

 

He shook his head as if to clear it.  “Thank you. I apologize, I just... you look... stunning.”  One corner of his mouth tipped up into a crooked grin.

 

“Really?”  Hermione found that her feet could move once more, and she stepped to where he was waiting.

 

“Yes, really.  Gods, I thought my eyes were going to vacate their sockets and roll to the floor at your feet.  Every time I think I've seen each side of you, that there aren't any more surprises, you prove me wrong.”

 

“You don't mind the color?”

 

“Not at all.  It suits you. Why would the color bother me?”  When she gave him a shrug, it clicked. “Because red is a Gryffindor color?”  His chuckle surprised her. “If you haven't noticed, I don't drape myself in exclusively green and silver.  Hogwarts was a long time ago. And you... look  _ sinful _ ... in red.”  He drawled the words as he wrapped one arm around her and tipped her chin up with the other hand.  Her heart began to beat wildly and she thought he was finally going to kiss her on the lips, but instead he nuzzled her ear and let his fingers trail down her bare arm until he slipped her hand into his.

 

“Thank you,” she murmured, fighting the urge to press herself against him, to capture his lips with her own, to drag him back up the stairs and lock them in his bedroom for the rest of the night...

 

“You are most welcome.  I must thank  _ you _ for allowing me to escort you for the evening.”  He pulled the little white flower from his lapel and tucked it behind her ear.  “It's not a bouquet, but I thought traditions have probably evolved since then.”  She leaned into his touch when he cupped her chin, and recalled with a smile what he'd said months ago about picking up a date with flowers and a promise to have her home by ten.  She felt incredibly cherished. “Are you ready to go?” When she nodded, he tightened his hold on her and Apparated them away.

 

The night was more than Hermione could have dreamed of.  It was like those early days with Phillipe, except instead of being swept along in  _ his _ wake, Hermione felt as if Severus was letting himself become caught up in her own.  He was a perfect gentleman, opening doors for her, pulling out her chair, and then he surprised her again by asking  _ her _ to pick the wine.  Even in the beginning of her relationship with Phillipe, that was something he'd done.  At the time, she'd thought it showed confidence and chivalry. It wasn't until much later that she'd realized that it was one of the first signs of his obsession with control.

 

When she admitted that she didn't know enough about wine to make a selection, he surprised her again by suggesting they get a sampler of the house wines and they could decide together what they liked.  She agreed, feeling as if it was all a little surreal. Since the restaurant was muggle, he asked her opinion of certain dishes, listening intently as she described the ones she knew and casually moving past the ones she didn't.

 

The conversation flowed as easily between them as it did in the library at home.  They talked about the projects he was working on in the lab, an article they'd both read in  _ Transfiguration Today _ , their favorite authors, even a very stilted bit about her classes at university.

 

By the time they finished their meal, most of the doubts Hermione had been trying to reign in had faded completely away.  They walked down the cobblestone street, occasionally passing other couples who were also hand in hand. For several moments they stopped and listened to a musician on a corner playing a haunting tune on his saxophone.  Before they continued on, Severus tossed a few notes in the case open at the man's feet. Eventually, they reached a natural amphitheater that was filled with other couples sitting on blankets or in lawn chairs. An old black and white film was projected against the stone, the sound echoing around them from a single speaker near the front.

 

Severus checked to make sure that none of the muggles were looking before he pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and shook it out.  With each flick it grew, until in another moment it was big enough for them to sit on. He laid it out, then offered her his hand to help Hermione sit on the rich black silk.  Over the course of the movie, they went from sitting shoulder to shoulder, to him having his arm draped around her, to reclining back on his elbows with her head pillowed on his chest.  When it finished and the credits began to roll accompanied by tinny jazz music, Hermione didn't want to move. She wanted to stay on their little patch of grass under the stars for the rest of the night.

 

Severus didn't seem in a rush to move either, and almost all the other couples had left by the time they got to their feet.  The few who remained were locked in far too scandalous of embraces to have noticed the film had even ended. Severus checked his pocket watch again.

 

“What time did you tell Madam Serene we would return?”

 

“By midnight.”

 

“We should probably head back then.  Still, midnight is better than ten, any day.”  He wrapped his arm around her and they strolled back toward the Apparation point.

 

“Plus, you won't have to worry about my father watching you through the front curtains when you say goodnight.”

 

“That is certainly a bonus.  With Lily's father, there had been a shotgun between his knees.”

 

Hermione gasped, not sure if she was more shocked that Harry's grandfather had waited up for his daughter and Severus with a shotgun or that there had actually been a date.  From what Harry had told her he'd seen in the pensieve, it had been more of a childhood friendship that led to a one sided love. Part of her wondered if she should be jealous of his long lost love.  After all, she wanted his whole heart to herself. But she couldn't muster a single ounce of envy. Not just because the woman had died while Hermione was still in nappies, but also because Lily was her best friend's mother.  Hermione didn't understand or agree with her reasons for cutting Severus from her life, but whatever faults she had, the woman was half of Harry. She had fought a war and paid a terrible price, made the ultimate sacrifice. Whatever else she was, Lily Potter had been a mother who loved her son.  Who had saved him. And Hermione could only respect her for that.

 

Still, she wondered how that date had gone; what else  _ hadn't _ been in the pensieve.  “Will you tell me about her, someday?  I only really know what you've mentioned before and what Harry told me from the memories he saw.”  She glanced up at him and saw him sigh. “You don't have to, if you'd rather not.”

 

“No, I don't mind talking about it.  But I think we will have to wait until after we get back to the house, or we will be late.”  He checked the time again.

 

“Oh!  Of course.  I nearly lost track.”  They had reached the Apparation point by then, and Hermione let herself be drawn into Severus' embrace.  With a nearly inaudible  _ pop _ he Apparated them home.

 

Once Madam Serene had been sent off and they were settled in the library, Severus poured them both a  finger of firewhiskey and tried to organize his thoughts.

 

“Did you ever have a place that you loved as a child, and when you were small it seemed so huge and so perfect, and because you hadn't seen it in years, it kept growing into this magical place that nothing could ever be better than?  And then when you finally do go back, you realize that it was never as big or as great as you thought? That is the basis of my relationship with Lily Evans. My childhood was not pleasant. She was the one bright spot. Her friendship seemed perfect to me.   _ She _ seemed perfect to me.  When we got older, things changed, but I stubbornly clung to the idea that we would always be together, as friends and then later as more.  The night I told you about, when Mr Evans waited for us on his porch with a shotgun, I actually felt  _ glad _ that he did.  Because I thought it meant he saw me as a serious suitor for his daughter.”  He gave a short laugh, and sipped his whiskey. “It wasn't until much later that I realized he only saw me as a dirty little boy from the wrong side of town.  He probably wanted to show me that he kept the shotgun in case I was planning on trying to rob the house.

 

“It wasn't even a real date.  I had no money, so we just walked down to the river and watched the fish jump.  She had already made it clear to me and anyone with ears that she only liked me  _ as a friend _ .  But still, I held onto my foolish hope for more.  Then, when I lost her friendship and she started dating Potter, I never blamed her.  I blamed myself, I blamed James, but never her. By then, she was so high above me on the pedestal I'd placed her on, that nothing could taint her.  After her death, that feeling only intensified. I dedicated my life to protecting her son, to atoning for my mistakes. And I very nearly died doing it.

 

“It wasn't until after the war had ended, when I was left alone with nothing but my bitterness and regrets, that I finally faced the truth about her.”  He shrugged, taking another drink. “She had been human. Imperfect, flawed, same as everyone else. I had clung to her as the only good thing in my life for so long that I'd let my affection for her border on obsession.  And perhaps, if things had gone differently, it would have eventually faded away as it was always meant to. I might have found someone else to give my affection to. I would have been able to see that Lily had never been right for me, and that we were better off with other people.  We had been barely twenty when she died. Little more than children.

 

“Forgiving myself for what happened back then, learning not to hate who I was and coming to terms with my life, meant facing the reality of that.  Facing that what I'd felt for her was never true, romantic love. And she never could have loved me that way, either. She was such a  _ Gryffindo _ r.  Quick to action, quick to anger.  Brash, impetuous, too generous for her own good.  At that age, I was just as quick to anger, and doubly so when I felt humiliated or cornered, which was almost all the time.  If she hadn't written me off for the incident Potter saw, it would have been another. What's more, even if I somehow had managed to convince her to make a go of it with me, there was no way she could have ever lived up to the expectation I'd created in my head.  Eventually, we would have hated each other for it. 

 

“I regret her death.  I regret that we never got to reconcile as adults who had moved on with their lives.  But I've put my pining for her far behind me.” He finished off his whiskey and studied Hermione's face, watching for her reaction.

 

“ _ I'm _ such a Gryffindor, too, you know.”

 

Severus chuckled, the low sound rolling around the room and back again.  “My entire history with the only woman I've ever loved, the story that every newspaper from here to Timbuktu would throw over their own grandmothers for, and  _ that's _ the part you focus on?”  Hermione blushed. “Yes, you are such a Gryffindor as well, but you are hardly anything like Lily.  You're smarter than she was- no, don't give me that look. She was intelligent, but hardly as brilliant as you.  Your intellect tempers your boldness. You forgive far more easily than she ever did, but growing up friends with Potter and Weasley, I'm not surprised there.  You are more rational, and yet more sensitive than she was. Really, the main similarity I see between the two of you, is your fathomless capacity as mothers.”

 

Hermione couldn't help but smile.   _ That _ was exactly why she couldn't find it within herself to be jealous of Lily Potter.  She thought about trying to explain it to him, but let it go. He probably understood.

 

“Thank you for telling me about her.”  She squeezed his hand.

 

“Thank you for listening.  I'm glad my history with her doesn't seem to bother you.”

 

“Not at a-” she was cut off when a huge yawn welled up.  She covered her mouth, embarrassed. “Whoops. I guess I didn't realize how tired I was.”

 

Severus rose from his chair and pulled her up from her own.  “It  _ is _ awfully late for us old people.”  Hermione arched a brow at him.

 

“Speak for yourself, grandpa.  I'm only tired because I have a tiny person who wakes me up at six in the morning every morning.  If not for that, I could party all-” Another yawn cut her off, belying her words.

 

“Yes, quite the party animal, I see.”  He smirked, then pulled her close. “Think you can make it up to your bed, or do you need a lift?”

 

“Well, I'd probably be fine, but if you're offering...”  

 

He chuckled, wrapped both arms around her, and slid them sideways into the attic.  Hermione looked around and saw that they'd arrived, but made no move to let him go.  He didn't, either. Their eyes met, held.

 

“I had a lovely evening tonight, Hermione,” he whispered.

 

“So did I.”

 

“I'd like to take you out again, if you don't mind.”

 

“I hope you do.”  Still, neither of them had moved.

 

“I think this is the part where I kiss you goodnight and take my leave.”

 

“Mhmm.  It's tradition, after all.”

 

“Are you ready for that?”  His eyes searched hers, seeking any sliver of doubt.

 

“Gods, yes,” she breathed.  Suddenly, the embers of lust he'd been smothering sprang to life, heating his eyes and lighting a fire in his belly.  He lowered his head, gathered her against his chest and she went to her toes. Their lips brushed. She felt as if a shock of electricity had jolted her.  He tilted his head slightly, pressed his lips to hers again and left them there this time. His lips were warm and soft, his touch incredibly gentle. It was everything a traditional first kiss should be.  But they had far from a traditional relationship. And she'd waited for this for far too long.

 

Hermione's hand rose to cling to his shoulder, her lips opened beneath his and her tongue traced the furl of his lower lip.  A shuddering breath escaped him, and then he gave up any pretense of control. One of his hands fisted in her hair, keeping her pinned in place, the other slid down to the small of her back and urged her closer.  His lips opened, accepted her forays inside, then returned his own with fervor. He tasted her, delved into her mouth as if he was desperate for nothing more than the sweetness of her breath, the echo of her moans.  He moved when she did, learning every little way she liked to be stroked and teased, following her lead somehow while he dominated the kiss at the same time. They had both waited so long to experience this that they were nearly violent in their passion.  Tongues tangled, breath mingled, gasps for air danced together.

 

Severus realized the hand that had started out on her back had worked its way up her ribs and was dangerously close to cupping her breast.  He lowered his hand again and slowed the kiss, long, deep strokes meant to entice, then soft, sweet sweeps. She nearly whimpered when he finally pulled away.  He pressed one more tender kiss to her lips and lifted his head. Realizing that she'd utterly surrendered her weight to him, Hermione found her feet and forced herself to stand when all she wanted to do was fall against him.  They both caught their breath, hearts racing and blood singing through their veins.

 

When they had first confessed their interest in one another, there had been the thirst for more.  Now that they'd sampled  _ more _ , it wasn't nearly enough.  Both of them felt the hunger that had awoken.  Hunger for  _ everything _ .  It gnawed at them, making hands tremble and wills weak.  They could just keep going. Fall into her bed and cast a silencing spell on the room.  Spend the night in each others arms, discovering every angle and plane of their bodies. Kissing and memorizing each dip and curve.

 

But no.

 

There were reasons, surely there were reasons they should wait.  Neither could call to mind a single one in that moment, but they both knew they were there.  Severus extracted his hand from her hair gently, managing to look sufficiently chagrined at how forceful he'd been with her.  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if he'd hurt her, if he'd frightened her with his intensity, but the dreamy, satisfied look on her face stalled the words.  She was nearly boneless in his arms, and he couldn't forget that she'd been just as urgent as he. His shoulder stung from the force of her nails digging in, even through his shirt.  Shamelessly, he hoped there would be marks there that he could look at and be reminded of how wild he'd made her. As if there was any chance he might forget.

 

“Good night, Hermione,” he finally managed to murmur, voice deep and rough.  Their foreheads were pressed together, arms still wrapped around one another.  Reluctantly, they separated. He started to turn, but she tugged him back to her once more, placing a last kiss on the corner of his mouth.

 

“Good night, Severus.”


	9. Chapter 9

That date was followed by another (this time to dinner and a stroll through a hothouse garden) which was followed by another (ice skating, which Hermione was shocked to discover that Severus did incredibly well).  There were outings for the three of them, as well. A day trip to a nearby tree acreage to pick out a Christmas tree. The zoo on a surprisingly warm day. The London childrens museum, where Atticus got to play with dozens of other kids his own age. 

 

One night, Atticus had insisted that Severus be the one to carry him up to bed.  Since Hermione hadn't objected, Severus carried the boy up to the attic and joined them for stories and snuggles before bed.  Just before he laid down, Atticus kissed Hermione on the cheek, then turned to Severus and did the same. Then the little boy curled up in his bed, the foot of his little blue bunny stuffed in his mouth, as if he hadn't just set Severus' world once more spinning wildly on its axis.

 

After that, Severus went up to put Atticus to bed with Hermione every night.  Atty giggled when Severus read the stories in silly voices, clung to him when bedtime was absolutely upon him, begged shamelessly for one more story, or one more song.  Each time, it was a Herculean test of Severus' will not to give in and let Atticus have anything and everything he wanted.

 

Most evenings, Severus and Hermione went back down to the library to read or talk.  Sometimes they stayed on the couch in Hermione's sitting room and made out like teenagers.  It became harder and harder to part each night. And the reasons for doing so became more and more obsolete.

 

Severus kept his word about not letting Hermione lose herself while he courted her.  Every step of the way he made sure she was getting what she wanted, expressing her own opinions, telling him her thoughts.  He refused to allow her to demure to his whims. Compromise he readily encouraged. Mindless capitulation he rejected out of hand.

 

When her doubts and fears preyed on her mind, he encouraged her to open up to him.  To share her feelings rather than try and keep it all inside where it would fester. Sometimes all he could do was hold her while she cried and then kiss away the tears.

 

So much of what she was working through was similar to what he'd felt after the war.  He suggested she keep a journal, like he had, and even gave her the name of the muggle therapist he'd seen on a few occasions.  Most often, he reminded her that it was normal for her to be struggling with it all. That she wasn't alone. That he understood.  Those things, in themselves, seemed to help the most. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't alone.

 

Part of her feared that if Severus was the reason that she healed herself, she would be forever incomplete without him.  She would trade one form of dependency for another. And at first, she thought that was actually what was happening. It wasn't until she realized that Severus was just as invested in her as she was in him, that she finally put that fear behind her.  She accepted that it was possible to yearn for him, to need him, without being despondent without him. That it could be okay,  _ healthy _ even, to want to spend her life with him.  To want his to be the first face she saw in the morning and the last one she saw before she closed her eyes each night.

 

And that revelation was what finally gave her the courage to invite her to her bed.  They had returned from a walk around the edges of the estate, inspecting the rows of tiny trees where they had sectioned off a second orchard, enjoying the scent of the wildflowers that grew nearby, and looking up at the stars.  Once they were back in the attic sitting room, Hermione had heated the kettle so they could warm themselves over a cuppa. They sat and talked, the long fingers of Severus left hand wrapped around his mug and the fingers of his left tracing lazy patterns on Hermione's shoulder.  She had tangled their legs together on the ottoman, and was absentmindedly running her foot up and down his calf. 

 

When she finished the last of her tea, she reached across him to set it on the side table, lost her balance, and ended up sprawled across his lap.  The half erection he'd been sporting from their closeness and her casually sensual touch suddenly sprang to life in full glory, pressing insistently against her belly.  They both gasped. Hermione started to scramble back, ready to apologize for her slip, but stopped. Why should she apologize? Why should she move at all? She found that she was quite happy with her current position, thank you very much.  Instead of moving back, she pressed closer. A soft, deep groan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

 

“Hermione,” he caught at her shoulders, attempting to gently push her back.  His heart had started pounding, desire sweeping through his veins like a drug.

 

“Kiss me,” she breathed against his lips.  Forgetting that they were in a delicate position, forgetting that she could feel the evidence of his arousal, forgetting that they were waiting to go further physically, he did as she asked and kissed her.  His arms wrapped around her tightly, destroying even the smallest semblance of space between them. Not for the first time, he fought the urge to rip her clothes from her body and feel her skin to skin. Instead, he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, delighting in her gasp of pleasure, devouring each hitch of her breath.

 

Her hands began to roam, across his shoulders, down his chest, and finally reaching between them to the straining placket of his trousers.  He hissed in a breath at the contact, hips lifting of their own accord to press himself harder against her hand. As soon as he realized what he'd done, he slammed his hips back down and grabbed her wrist in a gentle but firm grip.

 

“Hermione,” he tried to calm his ragged breath and regain his equilibrium.  “I can't- we have to-” She planted each knee on either side of him and pressed the warm apex of her thighs against his erection.  His head snapped back so quickly that he thought he might give himself whiplash. “ _ Sweet Circe, woman! _  You are courting fate.  I am only human.”

 

“I know,” she murmured, the knowledge of her own femininity, the power she wielded over him, bright in her eyes.

 

“We shouldn't-”

 

“I want to.”

 

“Gods, you have no idea how desperately I have wanted to hear you say that.  But we can't rush into anything before you're ready.”

 

“I  _ am _ ready.  I want you, Severus.  Take me to bed.”

 

He went utterly still beneath her.  Only his heart continued to move, pounding so hard that she could see his pulse jumping in his throat.  “Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse with restraint. She had just offered him what they had both been longing for.  What a lesser man would have pressured her for long ago. What she knew he wanted desperately. And yet he was willing, even then, to give her an out.  If she changed her mind, he would find the will to let her go. He would respect her decision, and he would wait. For as long as it took. That knowledge itself made her more certain than anything that they were ready.  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

 

“Yes,” she breathed against his lips.  “Please.” Her soft plea seemed to spur him to action.  He pushed up from the couch in one smooth motion, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist.  She marveled at the strength of him, at his unaffected grace, at the feel of the muscles in his chest and arms bunching and flexing beneath her fingers.  He kissed her again, walking towards the door to her bedroom blindly and by some miracle making it across the threshold without sending them both sprawling on the floor.  

 

When his knees hit the edge of her bed, he knelt up on it, trying to ease them both down.  Thinking he was letting her go – had he changed his mind? - Hermione clutched him tighter. Severus over corrected, and then both tumbled onto the mattress gracelessly.

 

“Are you alright?”  Severus immediately levered himself up on his hands, looking her over to make sure he hadn't knocked the wind out of her or otherwise harmed her.  She was laughing.

 

“I'm fine, I'm fine.  I just didn't realize that I was so clumsy I could even make  _ you _ fall.”

 

Severus chuckled lightly, leaning close to nuzzle her neck and nip at her ear.  Her laughter quickly turned to moans of pleasure. “Don't talk about falling, or I'll admit something you're not ready to hear.  Besides, you're not clumsy. You are exceedingly graceful when you aren't trying.”

 

“Something I don't want to- wait, what do you mean when I'm  _ not _ trying?”  She tried to look indignant beneath him, but it came across as amused.  He kissed her lightly.

 

“Not to fear, my little lioness.  You never have to try around me. You are utterly beguiling exactly as you are.”  He continued his trail of light kisses down her chin, the slope of her throat, across her collarbone, and stopped at the swell of her breast above the collar of her shirt.  He paused, laving the skin there softly, driving her mad. When he still didn't move to do more, Hermione took one of his hands in her own and raised it to the buttons of her blouse.  It was all the invitation he needed. Deft fingers unfastened the little buttons more quickly than she could have imagined, and considering the man, that was saying something. She shifted, tugging the open blouse down her arms and flinging it off the bed.  

 

Warm, strong fingers caressed her breasts, one and then the other, stroking softly over the soft fabric of her bra.  Then with a careful flick, he unfastened it and slipped the straps down her arms. It, too, was tossed from the bed. Her nipples purled in the air, aching for his attention.  She started unbuttoning his waist coat, but was stopped when he suddenly captured one stiff peak in his mouth. The same tongue that had caressed and teased her mouth turned its talent on her breast, making her writhe and moan beneath him.  One of his own hands took over the job of getting rid of the waist coat and his shirt. He shrugged them off his shoulders and let them fall negligently to the floor. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except Hermione, the feel of her beneath him, the sound of her pleasured cries, the quick, steady thump of her heart.

 

“Severus,” she breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders.  He unbuttoned her jeans and then lifted his head from her breast so she could focus enough to help him shimmy them down her legs.  When they were gone, he moved his attention to her other breast, licking and nipping the sensitive flesh until she thought she would fly apart if she didn't have more of him.  She pulled him up and kissed him, dropping her hands between them unbuckling his belt. Then she unfastened his trousers and pushed them past his hips. His pants caught with them, and in one tug, his erection sprang free.  Hermione immediately abandoned her task of disrobing him in favor of exploring the length and breadth of him. She gripped him with both hands, reveling in the swift hiss of breath that escaped him. With a gentleness that belied how eager she was, she stroked him, cupping his weight and squeezing lightly.  He groaned and his hips bucked towards her. Emboldened, she tightened her grip on his shaft and moved faster, her own hips beginning to lift in time with the movements.

 

“Hermione, love, you have to stop.  It's been longer for me than I care to admit, and I want you far too eagerly-”  He sucked in another breath when she stroked him again. “Temptress,” he growled.  She met his gaze unrepentantly. In one quick motion, he scooped her hands together and pinned them above her head.  After pressing a swift kiss to her lips, he moved down her body again, this time not stopping at her breasts, instead continuing on, down her belly and to the lace edge of her panties.  He released her hands in order to pull the knickers down, nudging her knees apart along the way. Once they were tossed haphazardly over his shoulder, he settled himself between her legs and nibbled his way up her inner thigh.

 

“Severus!”  She tried to squeeze her legs together, more from shock than protest, but his broad shoulders held them apart.  When he reached her core, his tongue stroked across her clitoris. She shrieked, then clamped both hands over her mouth.  Severus was one step ahead of her when she tried to grab blindly for her wand. He snatched his own from his discarded trousers and cast a quick silencing spell on the room.  Without waiting another beat, he dipped his head between her legs once more and continued devouring her there. Her hips jerked and twisted, seeking more of him and yet less all that the same time.  He followed her movements, learning what she liked with the same single-minded devotion he gave everything that concerned her. When she was writhing and moaning, he slipped two fingers inside her and curled them slightly.  She bowed off the bed with a sharp cry, her body trembling and tensing as the orgasm wracked her.

 

When he'd wrung the last bits of pleasure from her and she was weakly pushing his head away, he rose and blanketed her body with his own.  Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips and welcomed him in the cradle of her thighs. The gesture was enough to set him on edge again.  When had a woman last accepted his touch eagerly? Lifted her hips to his in desperate need of him? Had he ever bedded a woman so soft, so lovely, so... Hermione.  There was nothing else for it. She was unique in all the stars and galaxies, more precious to him than any other woman could dare hope to ever be.

 

Slowly, he fitted the head of his cock against her slick quim.  She moaned, trying to urge him faster with her heels against his arse, but he refused to be rushed.  It had been a long time for her, too, since she'd taken a partner to bed. He wanted her to feel nothing from their joining but pleasure.  His lips descended on hers, one of his hands coming up to cup the weight of her breast and let his thumb drag lightly across the turgid tip.  She gasped, her hips lifting in reaction, sinking another inch of his cock inside her. Her walls fluttered around him, gripping him as eagerly as her arms did.  Still, he forced himself not to give into the rising demand within him to simply drive himself inside her and never stop. Slowly, inch by inch, he slid deeper until he was buried to the hilt in her fiery depths.

 

They both moaned low, adjusting to the sensation and letting themselves be swept along by the mounting pleasure.  Severus pulled back, then pushed forward again. Her body clamped around him like a fist and he had to grit his teeth against the sensation.  Once more, he pulled nearly out and slid back inside. Hermione gave an impatient moan and lifted her hips to him sharply.

 

“Faster,” she begged.  Unable to resist, Severus began to move more quickly, drawing back and slamming forward in time with her gasps.  He kissed her again, deeply, desperately, joined to her as closely as two beings could possibly become. When her legs began to shake and his control was about to snap, he slipped one hand between them and stroked her clit.  Her whole body tensed, close, so close, to that elusive edge. He stroked her again, driving himself into her as he circled and rubbed her clit, feeling it pulse beneath his finger.

 

“Hermione-” he growled her name harshly, raggedly, pleasure sapping him of all other thought than  _ Hermione, Hermione, Hermione! _  The sound of his voice sent her flying, careening into oblivion.  She screamed his name and bit his shoulder. He nearly roared his own release, fucking her into the mattress as he came.  She was clenched around him, body tensing in time with each spurt of his seed inside her.

 

Slowly, one breath at a time, they began to come back to themselves.  Severus realized that he'd let his weight collapse atop her and started to raise himself up, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his back.  “Stay,” she whispered. He could deny her nothing in that moment. He lowered himself onto her once more, sliding his arms between her back and the mattress so he could hug her tightly.  When he could once more breathe normally, he kissed the tip of her nose and turned them so they were laying on their sides, still embracing. “That was...” she searched for a word that didn't sound trite, then gave up.  “Good. Very, very good.”

 

“I aim to please.”

 

“That you did.  Twice.”

 

Exhaustion tugged at them, making their eyelids heavy.  It seemed like there should be more they had to say, things to discuss in light of this step forward in their relationship, but no words came.  Hermione was content to let things lie as they were, with silent understanding passing between them. They drifted, letting sleep slip around them in fits and spurts, kissing when it receded and simply holding each other when it took them.

 

It must have been the proximity of a beautiful, naked woman, or maybe it was simply because it had been so long for him, but it took far less time than Severus expected to find himself hard and ready again.  Wasn't he too old to be horny already? Whatever the case, he wanted her again. It would be so easy to turn her in his arms so that her back was pressed against his chest, her arse cradled against his hips, and slip inside her.  He imagined he could have her halfway to orgasm by the time she woke up, already rocking back against him and calling his name. And maybe, someday, they would be at a place in their relationship where he could do so. But he didn't want to take anything for granted.  Her bastard ex had done that. Assumed that consent, once given, couldn't be revoked. That marriage was a blanket agreement to sex whenever he wanted it, despite her feelings on the matter. And almost worse, he'd indoctrinated Hermione to believe it too. She'd balked at the idea that what Phillipe had done was assault.  They'd been married after all. It sickened him.

 

She deserved better, so much better.  He knew that in normal, sane relationships, casual morning sex, or being woken up by an orgasm was a  _ good _ thing, and that for the most part, consent was implied.  But as things stood, it wasn't a chance Severus was willing to take.  He didn't want her to feel, even for the smallest moment, that he'd denied her the choice.

 

His serious thoughts had woken him up enough to recall that they weren't the only ones sleeping in Hermione's rooms.  Atticus was also asleep right next door to them. Suddenly, Severus wasn't sure if it was a good idea for him to stay the night in her bed.  Didn't Atticus usually come to wake his mother up in the morning? What would he think of finding Severus with his mother? How would they explain?  Would they even need to? It was enough to make his eye twitch trying to sort it all out. For once, he was thankful that  _ he _ wasn't the one who had to make the final decision here.

 

“Hermione,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her eyes and nose to rouse her.  She stirred, mumbled, and tried to bury her face deeper into the pillow. “Hermione, wake up love.”  He stroked a hand over her hair, then traced down the line of her arm. She shivered and blinked her eyes open.  “It's getting late. If we don't want Atticus to find me here in the morning, I should probably go.”

 

“Go?”  She seemed disappointed enough about the prospect that Severus smiled.  

 

“Unless you think you are ready to explain this next...step... in our relationship to him?”  His words conveyed his doubt, but his tone was laced with just a hint of hope. Hermione caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought.  On the one hand, Atticus already knew that they cared for each other. He'd seen them kiss, he'd seen them hold hands. He accepted it as if that's the way things had always been.

 

But what would she say when he asked why 'Sev'us' was sleeping in Mummy's bed?  She could say that when two adults love each other, they liked to sleep in the same place, but they hadn't progressed to  _ I love you _ s yet.  So what would she say?  That they were dating, and were both hoping for more, but they were taking things slowly and this was the next step in their relationship?  That sounded convoluted, even to her own mind. Finally, she shook her head.

 

“It's not that I don't want to tell him.  I do, especially before he finds out on his own.  But it's just-”

 

“Shh,” Severus gave her a gentle smile and kissed her to quiet her.  “You don't have to say any more. I understand. We'll get there. There's no need to rush.”  With one more kiss, he tossed aside the blankets and started to rise. Hermione's eyes zeroed in on his erection immediately.

 

“Well, you don't need to go  _ right _ now, do you?”  She bit her lip again, eyes travelling from his cock to his face and back again.  Severus gave her a wolfish smile.

 

“I'm sure I can spare a few more minutes for round two.”  He slipped back into the bed just in time to feel her stiffen.  “What? What's the matter?”

 

“No, it's nothing.  I just thought of something....”  she trailed off, looking at him as if she'd just discovered some deep secret of his and was trying to fit it in with what else she knew of him.  “It's nothing, really. None of my business anyway.”

 

“Hermione.”

 

“It doesn't matter either way, so it's no big deal.  Just forget it.”

 

“ _ Hermione. _ ”  This time his voice was as deep as it had ever been in his classroom.  He looked down his nose at her, practically compelling her to tell him.  She blushed.

 

“It's just the way you said 'round two' and I remembered you saying before that you hadn't been on a date since you were so young, and I  _ know _ you didn't go home with any of the dates Minerva set you up on, so I had thought, I just assumed... but then earlier, you were so  _ sure _ and so talented, that I completely forgot that it was possible that this was... well...”  she stopped, took a breath and realized she was babbling incoherently. “Was that, the first time- I mean, was it  _ your _ first time?”

 

His brows drew together in confusion.  “With you?” Did she think they'd had sex and she somehow wasn't aware of it?  She blushed, and then her rambling started to make sense. “ _ Ever _ ?”  He laughed, low and deep, the sound rumbling out of his chest and tugging a smile to Hermione's lips despite her discomfort.  “No, Hermione, it wasn't. I haven't always lived in a world where courtship and affection were precursors to sex. My first time was, perhaps, later than most, but I assure you that you did not just rob me of my virtue.”

 

“Oh.”  Hermione wasn't sure if she was relieved (after all, wouldn't it have been strange for him never to have been with another woman?) or disappointed (after all, wouldn't it have been wonderful for him to have never been with another woman?).  “Well, good then. I mean, it's really not my business.”

 

“Of course it is.  I want you to be a part of my life.  I want to know you better than anyone else in this world, and I want you to know me the same.  You have only ever ask and I will answer any questions you have. Previous sexual history included.”  

 

“Okay,” she said, nodding.  “Same goes, then.”

 

“Good.  Though do not expect me to be burning with questions about your other partners.  Especially if we are about to try and...” he gestured between them. She laughed.

 

“Of course.  And now that we've got that cleared up, we should get onto the...” she gestured between them the way he had.  He chuckled and wrapped her in his arms for a languorous, unhurried bout of lovemaking.

 

When he finally, reluctantly, slipped away from her bed in the wee hours of the morning, Hermione let her mind drift contentedly over the events of the night.  Severus was a talented and generous lover. She'd been thoroughly satisfied, and what was more, he wasn't afraid to let her lead. He was confident in himself but not arrogant.  He saw to her needs before addressing his own. Instead of trying to instruct her on what  _ he _ liked, he took his time to discover what  _ she _ liked.

 

If their playful banter was any indication, they were comfortable enough with each other to laugh and play during sex, which was something she'd always longed for.  He plied her mind just as much as her body. He could be serious as well as light hearted.

 

Suddenly, she sat bolt upright.

 

_ Don't talk about falling, or I'll admit something you're not ready to hear _ .

 

That's what he'd said.  And then she'd been distracted, and she hadn't questioned him.  But he'd said it. And then, later, he'd called her  _ love _ .  Yes, she knew it was common endearment.  Plenty of people said it to perfect strangers.  But the phrases just kept circling around in her head.

 

_ Don't talk about falling, or I'll admit something you're not ready to hear. _

 

_ Love. _

 

_ Don't talk about falling... _

 

What else could he have meant?  And if he  _ did _ mean what she thought he did, what was she supposed to do with that information?  He was right, she wasn't ready to hear it. It was too soon, even in their unconventional relationship.  She still had too many doubts about herself to really believe it. But he was falling for her. Falling in love with her.  She put her hand over her heart, which had begun to pound wildly. Of course, logically, she had known this was where they were headed.  She'd admitted to herself ages ago that she was already half in love with him. But that just seemed to be a given. He was so... _ him _ .  And she was...well...  _ her _ .

 

Which was probably half the problem.

 

Scratch that.  It was all of the problem.  If she could accept that she deserved him, that he could truly love her, then he could come back up the stairs and say it right that moment and make her the happiest woman alive.  But she wasn't there yet. It still haunted the back of her mind that she would start to disappoint him, would bore him, would anger him. And he would either have to change her to be better, or his attention would wane.  She knew all the reasons why those thoughts were ludicrous. Why they made no sense, had no relevance on their relationship. And yet she couldn't quite stamp them out.

 

So the words would remain unsaid.  They would be filed away with all the other things they both wanted but couldn't ask for yet.  Marriage, family,  _ forever _ .

 

She laid back against the pillows and tried to force herself to enjoy the last few hours she would get to rest before Atticus woke up, but sleep refused to come.  Her heart felt nearly full to bursting and even though it was too soon, too risky, too uncertain, she couldn't keep the smile of happiness off her face.

 

***

 

The next morning was nearly unbearable.  How was Severus supposed to see her standing in his kitchen and not sweep her off her feet and take her on the counter?  How was he supposed to watch her eating her breakfast and not lay her out across the table like a feast for only him to enjoy?   _ Atticus _ , that was how.  The little boy chattered on through the morning, totally unaware of the sexual tension between the adults.  He barely even noticed that Severus had to force himself to let Hermione go after he'd kissed her when he walked in.  He didn't even see the looks of longing that passed between them. He did notice when his mummy began to smile and take very tiny nibbles of her banana.  He copied her and the adults nearly choked on their food. There was no more teasing at the table that morning.

 

When they parted ways for the day, it was almost a relief.  Apart, there was only the memories, the  _ thought _ of more.  When they were together, so close, it was tormenting temptation that neither could give into.   

 

Totally unintentionally, completely by accident - really, it was just a coincidence - Severus just happened to be by the stairs when Hermione was coming back from laying Atticus down for his nap.  He'd forgotten a book. A very important book that he'd needed for the rest of the day's work. It had nothing to do with the fact that she would likely be there, and that Atticus would be safely asleep in his bed for a whole two hours.  Nothing at all.

 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Hermione breathed when she saw him loitering at the foot of the attic stairs.  She raced down them more quickly than was safe, and threw herself into his arms. “Bed,” she urged him, kissing him desperately.  He didn't need to be told twice. He urged her legs around his waist, and sprinted them both to his bedroom. One locked door and a silencing spell later, they were tearing at each other's clothes with abandon.  They tumbled down onto the bed, lips and limbs twining. Their bodies crashed together with all the urgency and wildness they'd held back the night before. Gasps and moaned echoed around the room, punctuated by the snap of skin against skin.  They rose, straining for release, clawing their way towards it mindlessly. Then they broke apart, shattered together into a million little pieces of jagged pleasure. By the time they caught their breath and calmed racing hearts, they laughed at their mutual states of disarray.  Hermione's shirt was twisted in her hair, her knickers caught round her ankle. Severus' cuff was still around his wrist, the rest of his shirt dangling inside out from his hand, one sock off and one sock on.

 

They kissed, undressed one another properly, and then set about slowly winding themselves to completion once more.  

 

***

 

There were times when things went along so spectacularly well that Severus almost forgot why there were certain aspects of their relationship they were trying to take slowly.  Every day, Hermione gained more confidence in herself, and in them as a couple. They met any challenge that arose head on, and always together. It made it so much harder for him to hold back the words he'd been longing to say.  To wait to take the steps that would bind them together irrevocably. To not reach for  _ everything. _

 

And then there were times when he would be achingly reminded of what hurdles they had yet to overcome.

 

It started out as a simple argument.  They had argued before, usually light debate on the merits of some academic journal or a book they'd read.  This was different. This was a real fight, where each of them had sides they felt passionately about. The conflict had devolved from simple debate into nearly angry shouts.

 

“Can't you understand how this makes me feel?” Hermione demanded.  She stood across the room from him with her hands planted firmly on her hips.  “You are continuing to pay me for things I would be willingly doing by this point in any other relationship!”

 

“I wouldn't ask you to do them in a 'normal' relationship! I wouldn't expect you to keep the house and the garden and raise a child, especially not while working a second job, and not even if you were content to stay home with Atticus!”

 

“But it's okay for me to do if you're paying me?”

 

“Yes!  That was the whole point.  I wanted someone to take care of the things I didn't have the time or inclination for.  It's a full time job, despite what you say. If you had come to live with me simply because of our relationship and not as the caretaker, I would  _ never _ have expected you to do all these things.  You aren't a slave, Hermione.”

 

“I'm not saying you treat me like one!  But you continuing to pay me for things I would willingly do for free makes me feel like a kept woman!”

 

“Have I ever made you feel like you are trading your body for your salary?” he demanded roughly, insulted by the accusation.

 

“No, and that's what I'm trying to prevent!  I need my self respect. I need to feel like I'm not taking advantage of you!”

 

“Then quit!  I'll find another caretaker for the estate.  You won't be doing any work so I won't need to pay you.”

 

“And then I'm supposed to do what?  Sit on my hands all day and let you provide for me?  All you've done there is take away the one thing I feel like I'm contributing to this relationship!”

 

“Why is it so wrong for me to provide for you?  You're raising a child, that's enough work. If you want to do something outside the house, then get a job and I'll watch Atticus while you're gone!”

 

“I'm not turning you into unpaid help in your own home!”

 

“You think I would ask for  _ pay _ to watch Atticus?”  He snarled the words at her, the anger that had been building steadily starting to inch towards fury.  How could she think he felt that way about Atticus? He'd thought they had come so far, were already becoming a real family, and here she was throwing it in his face.  He was so focused on his own anger that he almost didn't see it. He almost missed the way she blanched and then her face cleared of all emotion.

 

“I'm sorry.  You're right.  Of course, you're right.  Lets just leave things how you like them.”  This wasn't passive aggressive anger. It was complete submission.  It repulsed him.

 

“ _ Don't _ ,” he hissed, taking a sharp step towards her.

 

She flinched.

 

His face crumpled as pain swept up through him so swiftly that it stole his breath.  She had  _ flinched _ away from him.  He felt sick. Part of him wanted to shake her.  To tell her to snap the fuck out of it. He'd never struck her, never shown her  _ any _ kind of violence.  He wanted to be angry and offended that she would, even subconsciously, think that of him.  But the other part of him understood. It had been ingrained in her to submit, to expect pain for her willfulness, to allow him to treat her any way he wanted.  His heart ached. He couldn't just tell her to stop it and expect years of fear and oppression to melt away.

 

Instead of going to her, he stayed where he was and held his arms out for her.  He wanted it to be her choice. She could come to him or not, seek comfort or leave the room to be alone.  A sob escaped her throat and she threw herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her close as she cried against his chest.  He didn't try to speak, just rocked her and soothed her until her shoulders stopped shaking. Finally, she turned her face up to him, tear tracks lining her cheeks, but eyes dry.

 

“Don't you dare act the way you did with him,” he whispered to her vehemently.  “I want you, all of you, not a shadow of yourself that you think I would prefer.  Fight with me, compromise with me, stand your ground and feel however you want to feel, knowing that even if I don't agree with every decision you make, this is what I want.  All of you, all the time, unafraid of consequences.”

 

“I...I know.  I'm sorry I flinched away from you.  I didn't think you were going to...”

 

“You don't need to apologize for that, Hermione.  It will come with time.”

 

“But it must have hurt you terribly.”  He didn't deny it, so she swallowed hard and went on.  “You have to know that I trust you never to harm me like that.  It just... happened. I didn't mean it.”

 

“Thank you, love.  I'm glad to hear that.  I apologize for letting my temper get the better of me.  I've come a long way from stalking the dungeons and meting out detention like candy, but I'm still a passionate man at heart, in the good ways and the bad.  I will continue to work on keeping my temper in check.”

 

“And I'll continue working on not falling into old habits in a fight.”  They kissed, reaffirming their affection and commitment to keeping each other happy.  “So what do we do? About the job, I mean?”

 

Severus sighed.  They were never going to see eye to eye on it.  He wanted to provide for her, but he understood her desire to be independent.  If only they could put a pin in the conversation until things had progressed a little further.  If they were married, their Gringotts accounts would be combined automatically. The goblins couldn't care less about feminism.  To them, families had one account. How it was managed, what they did outside the bank, was up to each family to work out. So once they wed, there would be no 'his money' and 'her money,' only 'their money.'  And if she wanted to stay home and take care of Atticus without seeking any employment outside the house, then there was no reason for her to feel like she was taking advantage.

 

“Do you trust me, Hermione?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then can you trust me enough to put this conversation on hold for the time being?  I do understand your concerns, and I respect your feelings on the matter. There is no satisfactory way to solve this issue at the moment, but there will be soon.”  When she still looked uncertain, he played his last card. “Besides, don't think of it as taking my money. Yes, I had my small savings from the years I taught, but most of the fortune I am now in possession of was Dumbledore's.  You did more than enough work for him during your adolescence to deserve some compensation.”

 

“That wasn't  _ work _ in that sense of the word-”

 

“I didn't think so either, when he left it to me.  But it's occurred to me since then that this might have been his small way of trying to make up for... things.”

 

“For ordering you to kill him,” she guessed.  He shrugged one shoulder.

 

“Among other things.  Either way, what's done is done.  There's no use fighting it. So can we agree to wait just a little while longer before we have this discussion again?”  She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “And when we do, if it devolves the way this one did, you're going to stand toe to toe with me and fight?”

 

“Absolutely,” she promised.  He smiled, kissing the top of her head.

 

“Good.”


	10. Chapter 10

Atticus' third birthday came in a shower of presents and a stretch of sunshine.  The time Hermione and her son had lived with Severus stretched from six months into nine.  It didn't escape her notice that soon, Atticus would have spent more of his life  _ with _ Severus than without him.  Every day, she watched their bond grow and deepen.  Slowly, Hermione had been encouraging Severus to make more decisions about Atticus on his own.  He no longer felt the need to seek her approval before they Apparated together. If Atticus was hungry and Hermione was busy, Severus would make a snack for him instead of seeing what Hermione thought he should do.  

 

Discipline was still something he left entirely to Hermione, but she was surprised to discover one day that when that changed, she would be ready for it, too.  She trusted Severus. Knew he wouldn't be cruel or unjust, and could be firm without causing Atty any harm. It was a huge leap for her. The whole of his young life, it had just been the two of them against the world.  The idea of someone correcting her baby, or heaven forbid  _ spanking _ him, made her ill.  Severus wasn't  _ someone, _ though.  He was her partner.  In all things, parenting included.  It was a novel feeling, and she could only hope that Severus was as pleased with the arrangement as she was.

 

***  


 

It had become a game of sorts, between the three of them, to pick the stories they read before putting Atticus to bed.  They each got to pick one, but they all had to agree on the order in which they were read. If a unanimous decision couldn't be made, new books were selected and the process started again.  It involved lots of giggles, good-natured teasing, and far more time than was likely necessary.

 

Severus favored wizarding story books, because he thought they were infinitely superior to the tattered muggle stories his mother used to occasionally read to him.  Hermione preferred the fairy tales and picture books her own mother had read to her. Atticus changed his mind about which he preferred nearly a dozen times a week, and the adults took it as a personal compliment when he was on their side, despite knowing he would defect to the enemy in a matter of hours.

 

That night, Atticus had chosen a muggle book (Severus suspected a bribe had been made, possibly involving cookies), and after much happy bickering, the order was chosen.  Babbity Rabbity was first, Where the Wild Things Are was second, and Atty's choice, the Three Little Bears, was last. Severus gave each character unique, silly voices, pausing dramatically at crucial points and adding in well timed tickles for good measure.  Hermione read Wild Things, pressing kisses to Atty's head as she recited the story from memory, only looking at the book to enjoy the pictures. Severus would have been happy to let Hermione read Three Little Bears, which he declared a ridiculous story, but Atticus insisted, and he gave in.  All through the story, he gave critical commentary that made Atticus giggle.

 

_ Who walks into someone else's home and eats their food? _

 

_ How can a chair be too soft? _

 

_ What kind of child decides to take a nap in a stranger's bed? _

 

_ She's lucky the bears didn't eat her. _

 

By the time he was done, Atticus was rolling between them, his belly laugh making them both smile.

 

“You're too hawd!”  He pushed at Severus' chest.  “An you're too soft!” He pushed at Hermione's.  Then he patted his own. “I'm juuuust wight!” He looked down at the book, scrutinizing the picture on the cover of the little girl and the three bears.  He pointed to the first one, then up at Hermione. “Mummy beaw.” He pointed at the little one, then at himself. “Baby beaw.” Severus' heart began to pound.  Atticus pointed a the biggest bear. Then he pointed at Severus, his head cocked to the side curiously. Severus' hands began to tremble and he pressed them against his thighs to hide it.  “Daddy beaw?”

 

His wide eyes went from Atticus to Hermione, barely daring to breathe.  He heard Hermione's own breath catch beside him. Neither of the adults moved.  Atticus looked between them, confused. He laid his little hand against Severus' chest.  “Daddy beaw?” he asked again.

 

“If-” his voice was nearly too hoarse to speak.  “If your mother doesn't mind.” He didn't dare look at Hermione's face, but he saw Atticus turn to look at her for approval.  She nodded. Atticus jumped into Severus' lap and began to chant happily. 

 

“Daddy beaw!  Daddy beaw! Daddy beaw!”

 

Severus wrapped his arms around the little boy and pulled him in for a tight hug.  He realized there were tears burning in his eyes and he blinked furiously to keep them back.  After a moment, Atticus squirmed to get free. He patted Severus' cheek. “Siwwy Daddy beaw.” Then he threw himself at his mother and pleaded for another story.

 

It was a good thing that Atticus had turned to Hermione to make his request, because Severus would have denied him absolutely nothing in that moment.  Another story, a gallon of ice cream, a stable of ponies, the stars themselves. He watched, still stunned, as Hermione managed to calm Atticus down and tuck him into bed.  She kissed his forehead.

 

“Night night, baby.  I love you.”

 

“Ni ni mommy.  Love you.” Severus leaned down to kiss him goodnight as well.

 

“Sleep well, Atticus,” he whispered.  “I love you.” 

 

“Ni ni daddy beaw.  Love-” a yawn interrupted him, and he didn't try to smother it.  “You too.” The he stuffed the foot of his blue bunny in his mouth and closed his eyes.  Hermione and Severus left the room, closing the door softly behind them. They only made it two steps from the door when Severus pulled her to a stop.

  
“You truly don't mind?” he asked, realizing his hands were still shaking and not bothering to hide it any more.  Hermione cupped his face in her hands and smiled.

 

“Of course not.  I'm so happy.” She kissed him and was crushed against him when he wrapped both arms around her and lifted her off her feet.  He kissed her back, then buried his face against her hair while he held her and tried to embrace the beautiful gift he'd just been given.

 

When he felt like he had his legs under him once again, he carted Hermione to her room, cast a silencing spell, and fell into bed with her.  He took his time worshiping her body, expressing his gratitude that she'd come into his life with hands and cock and tongue. She shuddered through her third climax before he collapsed beside her, spent and exhausted.  While they caught their breath, he kissed her hand, exactly as he had the night in the library months ago. The center of her palm, the tip of each finger, and her knuckles, then drew her hand up to cup his cheek. She pulled his hand to her lips and repeated the gesture back.

 

“Move in with me,” he whispered to her softly.  Hermione turned her head and smiled.

 

“I already live with you.”

 

“You know what I mean, witch.  Move downstairs. Sleep in my bed every night.  We can turn the guest room next to it into Atticus' room.”

 

Hermione studied him closely, feeling out his sincerity.  Then she nodded. “Alright. Yes.” Severus let out a very undignified whoop of happiness and couldn't be arsed to regret it.  “But Severus, if we do this, we are truly abandoning all pretense that I'm the estate manager. I don't want to keep accepting wages for it.”

 

He had anticipated that, and nodded.  “I understand. Give me three more months.  It will have been a year since you and I started this thing between us.  If everything is still going well, and sharing a living space hasn't driven either of us away, then I'll officially fire you.”  Hermione laughed, wrinkling her nose.

 

“Fired sounds so unpleasant.  Can't I just resign?” 

 

Severus sighed dramatically.  “I suppose, but I had high hopes for firing you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I would call you into my lab, tell you what a naughty girl you've been, and that I'm left with no choice but to fire you.  And then you can use every tool at your disposal to try and change my mind.” He waggled his brows suggestively.

  
“ _ Every _ tool?” Hermione breathed, arching towards him.

 

“Indeed,” he murmured.

 

“ _ Imperio _ it is, then,” she said with a laugh, pushing a pillow in his face.  He growled and rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the bed beneath him.

 

“Impertinent witch.  I believe that some discipline is in order.”

 

Hermione's cheeks flushed and her pupils went wide with desire.  “Spanking, or will I be tied up?” she asked breathlessly. Severus kissed her hard, then leaned down and whispered in her ear.

 

“Both.”

 

***

 

Three months to the day later, Severus took Hermione out to dinner.  He'd already spoken with Atticus earlier in the day, and the little boy had given his daddy (he had finally dropped the 'beaw' right around the time he'd learned to pronounce it 'bear') his enthusiastic approval.  He knew, that for the entire year, this was what they had both been working towards. Still, he couldn't help the nerves that settled in his stomach. What if she thought he was moving too soon? What if he had waited too long and she'd changed her mind?  There were too many things that could go wrong, too many variables out of his control.

 

He clung to the fact that he had Atticus on his side, at least.  It was very Slytherin of him, but he knew that Hermione loved him, and if she was going to try deny them what they all wanted, then he would use every means he had to change her mind.

 

The restaurant he took her to was the same one they'd eaten at on their first date.  The sentiment of the gesture was not lost on Hermione. She knew he had something planned, even had an idea (a hope?) of what it was, but she couldn't help but be touched that he had put so much thought into even the small details of the night.  He encouraged her to get her favorite wine, insisted that she have the larger portion of their dessert. All through the meal, they talked and laughed. She could see he was nervous, adorably so, and it meant so much to her that he let her see it.  He was so stoic around the rest of the world, expression set in stone, hiding behind his army of little black buttons. But he allowed  _ her _ to see the man behind that facade.  His humanity, his vulnerability. His incredible capacity for love.

 

“I talked with Atticus earlier today,” he said as they were finishing the rather decadent slice of tiramisu.

 

“Oh?”  Hermione licked last of the cream from her spoon, noting the way his eyes followed the movement, and then set it down.

 

“I thought, despite his age, that I should seek his permission.”

 

Hermione's breath caught.  “Permission?”

 

“You know what I want, Hermione.  You've known nearly from the first.  Before I had any right to expect it or even hope for it.  But by some twist of fate, you seemed to hope someday for the same things.  For  _ everything _ .  And I've been biding my time, really, because I didn't need this last year to tell me what I already knew.  I love you, Hermione. I always will. And I love your son. I want you both to be my family, in every way possible.  I want to marry you, to adopt Atticus when you're ready, and maybe, someday, give him brothers or sisters. I want a life with you.”  He paused, taking a deep breath and watching with satisfaction as joy spread across her face. “There is one thing I need to do first, though,” he said seriously.  He looked into her eyes, seeing the small spark of worry, and clasped her hand to reassure her. “Hermione,” he said sternly. “You're fired.”

 

She burst out laughing and smacked his shoulder.  “You wanker! You really had me worried!”

 

“Well, you knew it was coming.”  He smirked.

 

“Yes, but right in the middle of your proposal?”  She stopped, eyes suddenly suspicious. “You  _ are _ proposing, aren't you?”

 

“I was attempting to.”

 

“Oh good.  Okay, onward then.”

 

“Bossy witch,” he chided with a smile.  “But alas, you are right. I think we have tried to conform to tradition as much as possible during our courtship, considering the otherwise unconventional aspects of it, so I believe the logical proposal position is...” he slipped from his chair and down to one knee.  A small, black velvet box appeared in his hand. “I considered slipping it into your drink, but that always seemed like a rather glaring choking hazard to me.”

 

“Not to mention getting the ring sticky,” Hermione agreed sagely, her heart pounding inside her chest.  He lifted the lid of the box to reveal a square cut diamond with an engraved band. Tears began to fall from Hermione's eyes.  His own seemed to have taken on a sheen.  _ Allergies _ , he thought.  Had to be.

 

“You thought it'd be a garish emerald, didn't you,” he managed to smirk.  She sniffled, fighting back the half sob-half laugh that threatened to emerge from her throat.

 

“If you don't ask me properly right this very minute, Severus Snape, I'm going to charm it red and gold our entire first year of marriage.”

 

“Perish the thought.  Hermione Jean Granger, my love, please say you'll do me the honor of becoming my wife.  Will you marry me?”

 

This time, she didn't stand a chance of stifling her sob.  “Yes! Of course I will.” She threw her arms around him, certain she was making a spectacle of herself and not caring at all.  They embraced, then Severus took her left hand and slipped the ring onto it.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered as he kissed her ear.  She pulled back, blinking away the tears.

 

“Whatever for?”

 

“For being in my life.  For seeing in me what no one else could.  For trusting me. For bringing Atticus into my life.  For letting me make you my family.”

 

“Oh, Severus.”  She pulled his hand up and repeated their kiss, more intimate than any erotic display could be.  She kissed his palm, the tip of each finger, and his knuckles. Then she brought his hand up to cup her cheek.  “I love you.”

 

“And I you.”  He rose from his knee and pulled his chair over so it was only a few inches away from hers.  Hermione looked around and realized that no one had even glanced their way. She was more grateful than confused.  “I cast a  _ notice-me-not _ before going to one knee,” he said when he saw her looking around.  “Following tradition is one thing, making a fool of yourself in front of an entire crowd of strangers is another.  I should cancel it, though, before our waiter becomes any more confused.”

 

After he'd canceled the spell, he paid the check and they began strolling slowly in the direction of the Apparation point.

 

“There are a few very non-romantic things we still need to work out,” she admitted.  “Would you rather we preserve the moment, or get them out in the open?”

 

“By all means,” he encouraged.  He appreciated romance, but was still a pragmatic at heart.

 

“I'll need to search the registry at the French ministry to see if my divorce took.  I never waited to see if Phillipe contested it. I could still be-”

 

“You are not.”  Severus shook his head.  “I took the liberty of looking for myself.  For whatever reason - maybe because he never thought to look because he never believed you would have the courage to file - he never tried to prevent it, and you were officially divorced six months after you left Paris.”

 

“Thank Merlin,” she breathed.  “Okay, then, that's one thing done.  The next one is that you've now officially fired me.  Don't think I didn't realize that you were hoping if we waited to discuss it until after we were married, I would just accept that we share an account at Gringotts and be content to not contribute.”  He managed a sufficiently chagrined, considering that's exactly what he'd been hoping.

 

“How about a compromise, then?” he offered.

 

“I'm listening.”

 

“I've been reliably informed that  _ someone _ ,” he glanced at her and then looked away, “took it upon themselves to inform the Ministry that the letter they received from you four years ago had been forged.  With several impeachable character witnesses to back it up, they of course rescinded their rejection of your application and are more than willing to hire you in your pick of mid level positions.”

 

“Severus!”  Hermione stopped, pulling on his arm until he turned to face her.  “You didn't.”

 

“I never said I did,” he hedged.  She just looked at him with those wide, whiskey colored eyes.  He sighed. “Alright, I did.”

 

“I can't believe-  I mean, I never thought-”  She put her hand over her mouth and shook her head.  “I don't know what to say.”

 

“Then don't say anything, for now.  There's no rush to decide. And...” he slipped her arm through his and tugged her gently along until they were walking again.  “There is... a second option, if you would be interested.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I know the work you did before coming to work for me-”

 

“The research paper?”

 

“Yes.  I know it wasn't exactly what you'd envisioned when you first considered a career.  It probably wasn't even on the list. But you have never seemed  _ un _ happy with it, when you've spoken of it.  And it seems that another opportunity has arisen for similar work, not just temporary work on a single paper, but several, backdated eight years as well as future projects that will need collaboration.”  He paused, more uncertain on this than on anything else they'd spoken of the whole night. “With me.” He felt her startled reaction, and pushed ahead. “I know potions are not your field of study, but you are as familiar with the work I've been doing as I am.  It's not all merely potions, there are Arithmancy aspects, charms work, even some work with runes. And I'm utter shite at the research and publishing side of it. I've got the intuition at the cauldron, but the rest-” he waved his hand negligently. “That's why the projects I've completed haven't seen the light of day.  Some of them could be incredibly useful to the right people if they were published properly.”

 

“I'm sure,” Hermione agreed, sounding thoughtful.

 

“And it would mean getting to work from the house, and picking your own hours.  You could still take care of Atticus, and I don't know what kind of money is in research and publishing, but whatever comes from it is yours.  I've already more than what I need.”

 

“Severus, that's far too generous.  It's  _ your _ work.”

 

“Then we can join our Gringotts accounts early, if this is what you decide.”  He shrugged, trying to appear casual while he felt anything but. “Then whatever money they make is 'ours.'”

 

“You've given this a lot of thought,” she murmured.

 

“Indeed, I have.  And I want you to give it the same amount.  Don't simply take what one you think I will most approve of.  I want you to be happy, Hermione, and I'll support whatever decision you make.”

 

“Alright,” she agreed, already knowing which she would pick but loving him more in that moment than she ever had before, simply because he wanted her to choose.


	11. Epilogue

Atticus helped himself to the cake when no one was looking and ate himself sick.  The Weasley women (there was now a Mrs Fred Weasley, a Mrs Ron Weasley, and a Mr Percy Weasley-Bassili who was close enough, in addition to Mrs Arthur Weasley, Mrs Bill Weasley, and Mrs Potter nee Weasley) all tried to soothe the little boy, but for a four and a half year old who's just vomited copious amounts of buttercream frosting, only a mummy will do.  

 

Hermione had soothed him, given him a hefty dose of the stomach ache tonic Severus had fortuitously brewed the night before, and sent him off to the men.  He was a big boy, after all, and had very important Best Man duties to attend to.

 

The castle was crawling with people, which should have been surprising, considering it was the summer holidays.  But Hermione's old teachers - including a few professors who had come from Paris - the now enormous Weasley clan, the Potters, Longbottoms, Thomases, Butlers, Hagrids (including the almost normal sized triplet toddlers) and hand full of other friends managed to make the usually roomy castle seem chock-full.  Those who had come from out of the country had arrived the week before and Minerva had generously opened the castle to them for accommodations. 

 

Once she no longer had the fear of Phillipe hanging over her head, Hermione had wasted no time introducing her son to the people who'd once been her extended family.  It had been tentative at first, breaking the news that not only was she divorced, with a son, but also now engaged to Snape, but all in all she thought it had gone rather well.  No howlers were sent to the estate, and Harry and Ginny had taken a portkey into Great Britain for a visit not long after. Arthur, Molly, and Ron had been the next to visit, and instead of being awkward, as she'd expected, it had gone amazingly well.  Molly was instantly in love with Atticus and doted on him like a grandmother. Arthur had been caught three times in the shed trying to enchant the riding lawn mower to drive itself, and Ron turned out to be the absolute best uncle any little boy could ask for.  He took Atty on broom rides - with Severus continually casting cushioning charms below them- they played trucks in the dirt, and to top it all off, Ron had brought along the one thing guaranteed to enrapture a four year old. A  _ puppy _ .

 

Hermione and Severus had been happy to see the Weasleys and their pet off again several days later, but it had started a ritual of visits that continued all the way up to Hermione's wedding.  She and Severus had planned the whole thing themselves, tailoring it to their exact wishes. Hermione had eloped the first time around at Phillipe's behest, and Severus had never entertained thoughts on nuptials, but they both worked together to make it perfectly suited for them.

 

Hagrid, who, as it turned out, had been ordained by the ministry years before, performed the ceremony.  Molly cried, Atticus cheered, and Hagrid blew his nose loudly into his handkerchief as the newlyweds kissed for the first time as husband and wife.

 

Afterward, the many children set about eating the cake that Atticus had made himself sick on, and congratulations were passed around.  When the evening began to wear to a close, Hermione and Severus sat down with Atticus to make sure he knew to behave for Arthur and Molly.  With so many other children to play with and new things to explore, they didn't worry he would get bored. And with so many adults around to watch him, not to mention the house elves that had taken it upon themselves to herd the children like sheep, they tried not to worry about any mishaps, but that was nearly impossible.  Yes, they were newlyweds, but they were parents first.

 

They would only be gone a week, but by the time they'd caught their portkey to Vienna, they both missed him.   Still, it would be nice to have several days of uninterrupted carnal bliss.

 

“Severus, did you remember to pack the expanding satchel?” she called into the bathroom.  “I thought we might need-” she paused, pulling out the roll of official looking parchment she'd just unearthed in his suitcase.  Thinking it must be their marriage certificate, she smiled and unrolled it. And froze.

 

“Did you hear me?  I said it's in your-”  Severus walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low around his hips and another tousling his hair.  He saw what Hermione was holding and his blood ran cold. “Hermione.” His voice cracked. The towel in his hand fell to the floor.  She turned to look at him, the adoption papers still clutched in her hand. They were already filled in with Atticus' name, Hermione and Severus' information, and the ministry seal.  At the bottom was the name  _ Atticus Wendall Snape _ .  The only thing missing was the signatures.  “It's not what you think it is.”

 

She looked up at him then, shock written plainly on her features.  “It's not?”

 

“No!  I mean, yes, but not like that.  I'm not rushing you, Hermione, I swear to Salizar I'm not.  It's not something I would ever want to make you feel like I was forcing you into.  It's a huge commitment for both of us. Bigger than getting married, even. If by some terrible occurrence we were to split up, I would have custody rights to him.  But you've got to know that I would  _ never _ separate the two of you.  I couldn't do that to either of you.  But... Hermione, he's my son now too. I want that to be true in every way humanly possible.  I just wanted to have the papers drawn up for when you're ready. I don't want to wait a single second longer than I have to.”

 

Hermione didn't even try and stop the tears that fell from her eyes.  She looked at the parchment again, then moved to her suitcase. Severus reached out to her, but pulled his hand back at the last moment.  Was she angry? Hurt? Scared?

 

“Hermione-”  He was cut off when she handed him something.  He looked first at her, then at the roll of parchment she'd given him.  His heart began to pound when he saw at the very top the name  _ Atticus Wendall Granger _ .  Unable to read the words between, be yanked the parchment all the way open and read the very bottom.   _ Atticus Wendall Snape. _  She'd had the adoption papers drawn up as well.

 

“I didn't know how to give them to you.  It seemed wrong to just hand them to you and ask you to adopt my son.  I know we've talked about it before, and I knew it was what you wanted, but it just seemed so-”  She was cut off by Severus' kiss. He hauled her against his chest, hugging her close and trying to express everything unsaid between them.  Hermione responded with equal fervor, meeting him stroke for stroke and holding him tight.

 

They broke apart finally, gasping.  “Quill,” Severus said hoarsely. “Where's a quill?”  Hermione rummaged through her things quickly and came up with one.  Severus unrolled one of the sets of papers again and dropped the nib to the signature line.  He glanced up at Hermione at the last moment. “You're certain?” She nodded. With a few spiky strokes, he'd signed his name.  He passed it to Hermione, who added her own signature below his. The parchment glowed a bright blue, then vanished. Severus looked down at Hermione's now empty hands and swallowed thickly.  It was done. He'd just adopted Atticus and given him the Snape name. “Hermione.” Emotion was bright in his eyes and made his voice ragged. “I love you,” he whispered.

 

“I love you too.  And so does Atty. We really are a family now, Severus.  In every way we can be.” She bit her lip and studied his face.  “You became a husband and a father all in one day. Are you sure that's not too much to take in?”

 

“Not even remotely.”  He swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.  “I want to hold our son so much right now it aches. You're going to have to distract me, Mrs Snape.”

 

“Oh, the sacrifices I make for you,” she sighed dramatically.

 

“I'm sure you'll find some way to bear the hardship,” he assured her.  “Though I think you might just have to  _ distract _ me every possible moment for the next seven days.  We might never make it out of this room.”

 

“And wouldn't that be a shame?  There were books I wanted to shop for for the new research paper, and obligatory honeymoon pictures to take...”

 

“I'm not opposed to pictures being involved.”

 

“Wicked man,” she grinned against his lips.

 

“Beautiful wife,” he whispered back.  Whatever retort she'd been about to say was lost as he began the thorough distraction.  Soon, the room was filled with breathless moans and incoherent urgings. Climax found them tangled together as close as two beings could be.  “I love you, Hermione Snape.” He kissed her palm, then the tip of each finger, then her knuckles, and finally cupped her hand over his cheek.  Hermione repeated the kiss back.

 

“I love you, too,” she promised, staring into his eyes and seeing forever reflected back at her.


End file.
